Fallen
by Crave Kashmir
Summary: After his defeat, Nuada is pressed into service for the BPRD. There he discovers that recent threats may be more than they appear and enemies may be the best hope for saving his people. Inspired by Seph7's Time Heals. Ensemble story,with a focus on Nuada.
1. Chapter 1: Condemned

Fallen

Chapter 1: Condemned

For one moment he had been King. He had command of the greatest army the world had ever known. He could have led his people to glory and freedom, to life above ground. They would no longer have hidden in abandoned railway stations. He would be king of a visible realm, unlike his father before him. He had it within his grasp, until the demon challenged him. Nuada, would-be liberator of his people and king of the world, was overconfident. How could he not be? He had every advantage, including the bond with his sister; if he died, so would she. The red demon was swayed by his friend to keep his sister alive, so the monster would have to be careful. But in his arrogance, Nuada was defeated. His army was taken from him. The crown melted into liquid gold, valuable to some but useless him, useless to control the seventy times seventy soldiers he needed to overthrow the humans.

He had the dagger drawn as he approached the demon from behind. He was stealth personified. But the others saw him. With a speed he could not have imagined, the woman drew her pistol and shot the dagger from his hand. He looked to his sister, and saw the dagger poised at her chest. She had been ready to sacrifice them both. He could feel in their bond the steely determination to keep him from winning. It was she who insisted he meet the challenge. Did she know he would be defeated so easily? In that moment he knew complete defeat.

Now, hands bound, he was at their mercy. King no more, prince no more. Nuada was their prisoner of an almost war. He would have been merciful to them. He would have given them a painless death. He would not have allowed them to feel this shame, but humans were cruel.

A choice, or so they claimed, was laid before him. Join the Bureau, fight alongside the demon that defeated him, or spend the rest of his long elfin life caged in a cement cell underground. Never to see the light of day again, feel the wind on his face or breathe fresh air. What choice was there? He could feel his sister's hand in this offer. He could feel the hope she felt that in choosing to work to save humanity, he might gain some understanding and appreciation for it. She was wrong. He hated the humans even more for this humiliation. He hated the demon and Abraham most. They should have been on his side, should have fought with him to defeat the human plague that ruined this world. They felt at odds with the world, but still wanted to be a part of it.

He was defeated, but he would not surrender. He would keep his rage, let it fuel him. He would learn their ways, their habits and secrets. He would rise again, stronger and more knowledgeable. His army was lost to him, but he would find a new one. He would be the King again.

* * *

Morning came as it always did in Section 51. Nuada rose, ate, trained and bathed before the other members of the "team" even began to stir from their dreams. It had not been a week before he learned just how lazy they were. At first he thought it was exhaustion from the battle, but it continued day after day, week after week. He had been months in this underground prison, and on no occasion had he happened across anyone in the entire Section 51 before nine o'clock in the morning. After that the agents in suits arrived from other sections to plan, research and guard the freaks.

Unlike the demon, Nuada did not have FBI body guards to feed him and keep an eye on him. The tribunal had decided to fit him with a device to keep track of him. It was implanted in his back where he could not reach to remove it. Nearly all of the scars on his body had been caused by humans and their weapons. What was one more scar? Their distrust of him spoke volumes. He cared not. He would never trust them, so what did it matter if they did not trust him. The device served little purpose inside the building. The cameras kept watch of him wherever he went. And he was bound by promise and by threat of proper imprisonment not to attempt escape. The device was for when they left on missions. He was allowed this much freedom. He hated that the missions always took place in the hours of darkness. He had been so long underground while in exile that he wanted to see the sun.

The claxon sounded and red lights flashed. It was the call to arms. The battle cry of the humans against his people, and he was forced to answer.

"Move it, your royal assness!" The demon shouted at him. Nuada bore his insults. He would revenge himself upon his captures one day. He was nothing if not patient.

"I have been ready since dawn," Nuada replied calmly, snapping the government-issue vest into place. The idea of wearing a bullet proof vest against trolls was ridiculous. Why should he wear one except to protect himself against any "friendly" fire from his teammates?

"Sounds like a personal problem to me." Red muttered loud enough for the prince to hear.

"Play nice," Liz Sherman patted his stone arm as she passed him.

She marched down the ramp and into the back of one of the waiting garbage trucks. The suited agents followed. As large as Red was, as much as he pointed and boasted and cursed, they all followed Liz's lead over his. She appeared normal for a human, but it was clear that the agents were intimidated by her temper and the flames that came with it. This made Nuada smile inwardly.

"Play nice. I always play nice," Red mumbled to himself as he sat in the back of the other garbage truck. This truck was merely transport for the team and ammunition. Liz sat in the back of the technology truck, monitoring the surveillance feeds they had placed around the city.

Trolls were nothing new to New York City. With over two thousand bridges connecting the various islands, it made sense they would make their homes there. Trolls were often a nuisance in the outer boroughs, but they had taken to terrorizing Manhattan. Manning hated to let Red out into downtown Manhattan after what had happened last time, but they had no choice. Red went where the trouble was, and the trouble, unfortunately, took him into Manhattan.

Manning ate another antacid in preparation for the heart burn that was sure to visit him later that evening. He watched Red in the back of the truck and prayed that there would be no witnesses. He saw Nuada pause behind the trucks. Nuada did not get on well with any of the team – Red beat him, Liz was human and Abe was dating the prince's sister. The prince opted for the truck in which Red sat. Manning was not sure if it was because the surveillance truck was occupied by more humans or because the prince enjoyed antagonizing Hellboy.

"Tell me, demon," Nuada spoke casually. "Why did you return to the Bureau? I understood you quit."

"Mind your own damn business."

"I have to assume it is because you cannot keep your family without the aid of the humans. What possible job could a demon do in the sprawling suburbs?"

"Shut it, fairy."

"Without the bureau, you are nothing. What do you think your human female thinks of you? Are they not taught from infancy that the man works to pay for the roof over their heads? Yet you need to be kept, like a pet. They bring you food as they do their dogs."

"I said shut it!" Red was on his feet, a stony finger pointed at Nuada's face.

Nuada had timed his insults to perfection. Red was on his feet just as the truck passed the gates. The garbage truck lurched over the poorly maintained road, knocking the irate demon off his feet and onto his backside, hitting his head on the metal flooring. He sat up, rubbing his thick head, glaring at the prince and trying to save face in front of his personal guard. Agent Cole just shook his head. He had been on Hellboy Assignment since the end of the Golden Army Affair. He had seen Nuada and HB at it on every mission, and always with the same results. Nuada was patient and consistent, and Hellboy stubbornly refused to learn. Cole considered the number of years he had left before retirement; it was too many to even think about. He suddenly had high hopes of dying or being transferred like his predecessors. Perhaps he could talk Nuada into impaling him on one of those shining Elvin blades.

* * *

Author's Note: I was inspired by Seph7's Time Heals.

The only event I changed from Hellboy II was that Nuala did not stab herself in the heart, everything else is the same... unless I change my mind later.

Also, I have no Beta, so please let me know if I've made any glaringly obvious mistakes.

Read, Review & Enjoy!

M.


	2. Chapter 2: Old Haunts and New Enemies

Fallen

Chapter 2: Old Haunts and New Enemies

It was late October. The seasons were only just beginning to change. When he was alone in exile, Nuada knew the seasons to change earlier than this. The trees would have been golden and flaming red by this late in the month, but the few straggly trees planted to make the humans feel better about their cement and metal city were still green. The humans had changed the world so much.

He stepped into the street. It was nearing eleven o'clock, dark, and there were surprisingly few humans around. The Bureau had intercepted any messages that might have led the media with their cameras or the less prepared law enforcement agencies to the scene. The humans were so distrusting, even of their own kind. If such terrors were happening among his people, the word would have been spread to keep them safe, to gather aid and arms. But the humans could only hide truth, not speak it.

"Must be like coming home to ya," Red slapped Nuada hard on the back. The demon's stone hand impervious to the blades Nuada kept there.

Nuada did not catch the meaning of his words until he looked at their destination. It was Blackwood's, the auction house where he openly declared war on humanity. It seemed that the human greed went so deep that even the untimely and unexplained deaths of seventy guests and the auction house staff could not keep so profitable an enterprise down. Nuada should have been surprised, shocked, saddened, but it was just further proof of humanity's hollow center.

"The cameras picked up the trolls entering the building at both entrances," Liz pointed at Blackwood's. "That was over an hour ago and there has been no sign of them exiting. There is clearly more to this then just a raid for food."

She adjusted the straps on her vest. It was snugger that she would like, constricting her movements. Perhaps she should not be back in the field so soon after childbirth. She was still technically on maternity leave, but she needed a release. She was stuck in Section 51 all day long with two infants and Red, who frequently acted the child himself. She needed to get out; she needed to shoot something other than a paper target; she needed to explode a building. It was wrong to think it, but she was glad the trolls had been getting bolder. It meant they needed everyone in the field.

With one final tug on her vest, Liz marched toward the main entrance, motioning for the others to follow. Red took the loading dock entrance with Agent Cole and Agent What's-his-name-that-just-got-transferred-and-won't-last-a-week-so-why-bother-learning-his-name. Nuada, implanted with a homing beacon, was free to work alone. After his first two missions with human guards went so very wrong, Manning thought it better that way. The paperwork to explain an agent's lost arm was more than he cared to tackle again. Nuada climbed the fire escape ladder to the roof and entered the building silently.

Blackwood's had gotten back to the business of selling very quickly after the tooth fairy incident. The money they made was worth the price of clean-up. The shareholders explained the deaths and damages with a gas leak, despite the revelation of the existence of Hellboy and his team. Truthfully, no one cared what happened so long as the money kept flowing. In this, Nuada was quite accurate in his thinking.

"I'm in the main lobby," Liz's voice came across the radio. "I don't see any evidence of trolls. Nothing is broken, nothing seems out of place."

"Same here," Red replied from the storage dock. It was covered in palettes and crates that had yet to be brought inside. Anything coming into Blackwood's was sure to be worth big bucks, so why it had not been brought into the building immediately was a question worth asking.

"Got a lot of old crap here," Red said. "They just left it on the docks."

"The trolls must have attacked before they could bring the inventory inside," Abe said. His ventilator burbled as he breathed through his gills. "I wonder if the trolls timed their attack for when the loading doors would be open."

"Doesn't seem very to follow the troll's usual behavior," Liz said. "I've got a broken door. Looks like it leads to the main auction room. I'm going in."

"Be careful, Babe," Red said. "I'm going into the storage room."

Hellboy moved through the open bay door. The engine on the nearby forklift was still running; its operator had clearly left in a hurry. There was room enough for Red to move through the storage room unhindered despite his size. The palettes filled with statues and valuable antiques were placed together at the far end of the room. The few cargo containers at his end of the room were so far apart Red could not touch them with outstretched arms. He noticed the gouges in the cement floor. The trolls had shoved the cargo boxes aside to make room. He was surprised they hadn't just smashed their way through…he would have. There were no signs of life now; whatever the trolls were after was not in with this shipment.

The door leading from the storage room to the restoration hall was in splinters, half of it lolling on its hinges like the entrance to the saloon in a Western movie. Red took his gun from its holster, chewed at his cigar and pushed the remains of the door aside. The restoration hall was empty, but there were still faces staring at him. Old statues, hideous paintings and relief carvings "acquired" from digs in the Middle East were everywhere. It was unnerving having so many eyes on him. Again, though, there was nothing. Only the art, no humans, no bodies, no trolls. The tables were so low that no troll could hide beneath them, the cabinets so small no troll could possibly fit in them; there was nowhere they could hide, if it was in their nature to hide. The doors at the far end of the room were propped open.

"Nothing," Red said, almost sounding bitter. "I'm moving on."

"Understood," Liz said.

She was having no luck in finding the trolls either. The auction room was in shambles. The chairs for the guests were scattered across the floor, one was hanging from the chandelier. Liz moved her light across the room, her gun trained wherever the light was shining. The bright LED light danced across the tables covered in sparkling precious stones, gold and silver jewelry. The valuables looked as if they had been picked through, though by her quick count nothing was missing. There were purses, high heeled shoes, and coats strewn around the floor. The guest book held 61 signatures; this auction had not concluded before the attack. Where were the guests? Camera footage didn't show anyone leaving the building, not even the guests. Why had the trolls attacked an auction room? Why search the items? None of this made sense. Trolls did not behave this way.

She moved through into the adjoining auction room, but found it empty. The chairs stacked, the tabled polished. There was nothing here.

"I've got nothing. I'm going upstairs," Liz reported.

"Same here. Nothing but old junk," Red replied. He was in the hallway already when Liz and her agents exited their auction room.

"The trolls were obviously searching for something. But what could they want with anything here?" She remembered that Nuada and his troll friend had attacked this very house to retrieve a piece of the Crown of Bethmoora. She suddenly worried that there was another crown out there that might control the Golden Army.

Liz and Red moved up the flight of stairs. Liz could see by the light in her hand that some very large cloven feet had made their way up these steps. The dirty footprints were unmistakable. She strained her ears, trying to listen for anything that sounded out of the ordinary. When they reached the landing, Red took his agents left, Liz took hers right. There was a safe at the head of the stairs; Agent Cole reported it empty. That left two rooms on either side, and whatever might be on the top floor. Nuada was being characteristically taciturn. He could be engaged in battle with the trolls and would never say a word over the radio.

Red moved as quietly as a demon of his size and impatience could. He found the doors broken like the others. Agent Cole went in first, training his light into every corner. This room had been occupied when attacked. There was evidence of a panicked escape – chairs and personal items left in disarray. It's amazing how even the rich have a greater perspective of value when their lives are at risk. What's a five hundred dollar coat worth compared to dying at the hands of a troll? The trolls had been there, but they were gone now. The other room on this side of the building had been empty when the trolls arrived and it was empty still.

"Babe, no trolls. They're gone," Red said into the radio.

As if just to spite him, a troll crashed through the ceiling. It landing on its back, dazed. It was bleeding from defensive wounds on its massive hands and forearms, and a deep slash across its face was bleeding down into its eyes. Nuada's handiwork.

"Take it back, I got one now." Red corrected himself. "Hey fairy, how many more trolls have you been keeping to yourself?"

"Just the two." The prince replied curtly.

"And the guests?" Liz asked. She knew humans were not a high priority for the prince.

"They are cowering up here."

Liz and her agents ran up the last flight of stairs. Red remained to deal with Nuada's lost troll. It was hardly a fair fight. The troll had been badly beaten already, lost a lot of blood and had taken a severe knock to the head when it fell through the floor. Still, a fight was a fight, and Hellboy loved a fight. He holstered his gun and waited for the troll to rise to its feet. The creature may have been injured but it was angry. It roared its rage and threw itself at the first thing it saw, which happened to be Hellboy. It slammed hard into him, sending the demon flying across the room. Hellboy rose, cracked his stony knuckles and returned the favor. He threw punch after punch at the troll's head, until the beast was nothing more than a ragdoll, a big, smelly, ugly ragdoll.

"One troll down," he reported. The backup agents would be in to confine the beast within minutes. When it was back in Jersey maybe they would get some answers.

Red ran up the stairs eager to finish off the last of the two trolls. Unfortunately, it met him at the landing. It was considerably worse for having met Nuada, but it was no less dangerous. It slammed the demon with its great forearm, sending Hellboy flying down the stairs. The troll jumped down to the level below, ignoring Hellboy and ran around to the next flight of stairs. These it jumped down, as well. It scattered the BPRD agents at the entrance and ran down the street oblivious to the bullets being fired at it, disappearing into the darkness.

"One troll lost."

* * *

A/N: Writing without a Beta here, so tell me if there are any glaring errors.

Do not get used to this type of updates. It's been a rainy day here in Savannah, and I had nothing to do but write (and write and write and write).


	3. Chapter 3: Questions and More Questions

Fallen

Chapter 3: Questions and More Questions

The auction house guests were escorted down the two flights of stairs and toward waiting ambulances. They were ushered quickly from the second floor, where the troll lay bound and tranquilized behind a broken door guarded by two BPRD agents in impressive bulletproof vests and mirrored sunglasses. The guests were given blankets and drinks. Manning knew that their bank accounts held more than the Gross National Products of some European nations, and he wanted to make sure they knew what a good job he was doing. Having his name on the lips of these people could mean a promotion away from this dirty little secret section of the government. The guests were questioned (ever so politely) about what had happened, and then (ever so politely) convinced that they had seen something else entirely. A gas leak produced mass hallucinations of some gigantic monsters, that's what they were (politely) told had really happened. Given Blackwood's cover story about the explosion the year before, it was easy enough to believe.

Hellboy and Abe went out the back entrance through the loading dock and into the waiting BPRD garbage truck. The truck drove away immediately before Red could be seen by the important witnesses. Liz and a handful of human agents exited the front. A garbage truck was waiting for them, too, but the auction house guests could not see it from their vantage point. It would have been difficult to explain their peculiar mode of transport to the well-healed guests. Nuada, too, exited the front in direct defiance of Manning's orders. He looked more like a human than either Red or Blue, but his pale skin, white hair and gold eyes made him stand out at the best of times. Even wearing the BPRS vest, he did not look quite normal. He glared at the humans, daring one of them to say something to him.

Those that met his eye flinched. These humans, so used to getting their own way, their money making every door open for them, meaning nothing was ever denied them, feared the sight of him. That was real power, real wealth. Nuada was about to turn away, to join the last of the agents in the truck, but he saw a face in that huddle. It was no one he knew, but still a face he had seen before. A woman, pale and frightened just like the rest, but she was familiar to him.

"Agent Nuada," a voice crackled in his ear. "Report to the truck."

He glared over at the truck for a moment, and then turned his eyes back to the face in the crowd. She had gone. It had taken a fraction of a second for him to turn away and return his gaze, so short a time the gawking humans had not yet filled in the missing space she had occupied. Could a human even move so quickly? He would have gone to find her, but he could see the human agents preparing to come escort him to the truck by force – as if they truly could. He turned, strode past the police cars and climbed aboard the garbage truck.

* * *

The next morning was no different than any other. Nuada had trained, fed and bathed his body before the others had moved theirs from their beds. At nine o'clock he was already leaning on the back wall of the conference room, waiting for the others to come in. The humans lumbered in slowly, gathering around the coffee and donuts like worshipers at an altar. They slumped into their seats, feeding their faces as if it could possibly fill the void in their souls.

Manning entered quickly and sat down at the head of the elliptical table. "What have we got?"

"We interviewed all available witnesses," one agent spoke up. "All stories corroborate our supposition, that the trolls were searching for something specific among the auction items."

"We ran an inventory on all items listed from both auctions, and only one is missing: a cylinder, gold, carved, maker unknown. It's dated to approximately 1220 CE based on the area in which it was found. No clue what significance it has for trolls," another reported. He opened the auction catalogue to a page marked with a hot pink sticky note, and passed the glossy booklet down the table to show the director and other agents.

"All guests were accounted for based on the register." Another said.

"Agent Nuada," Manning looked slightly to the left of the prince's head, afraid to look into his intense golden stare. "What happened with the trolls?"

"There were two. I fought them, one fell through the floor to the level below. The other escaped when Agent Sherman distracted me with gun fire," Nuada replied.

"I was assisting you," Liz snapped.

"You were getting in my way," Nuada corrected her calmly.

"Anything else?" Manning asked quickly, eager to keep Liz from igniting.

"Possibly. There was a human in the crowd, a woman. I had seen her face before," Nuada admitted.

"Must've been hot to turn your head," Red smirked.

"I did not notice," Nuada glared down at him. "I mention it only because she was at the previous troll attack."

"It's possible she might be compromising to us if she saw trolls at both sites," Abe spoke up. "It would be impossible for her to believe the hallucination cover story twice. We must find her before she can speak to anyone."

"Cross reference the auction guest lists with the sales receipts of the antique store from the last attack. There may be a connection," Liz suggested, though it sounded more like a direct order.

Two agents were on their feet and heading to the door at Liz's words. Manning hurried a command to them to follow through on Sherman's suggestion, but it fooled no one.

The glossy auction catalogue made it around the table into Abe's finned hands. He ran his fingers over the image of the golden cylinder. The picture was designed to make the object look shiny, expensive and desirable, but it did not provide a wealth of information. There were carvings, but it was difficult to see precisely what form they took. Based on the glossy photo, they could have been runes, cuneiform or just an attractive design.

"Were there any other pictures of this item available at the auction house?" Abe asked.

"Yes, but they weren't much better than that one, sir," an agent replied.

"Unfortunate."

The two agents returned from their cross referencing.

"There was only one name common to the antique store and the auction house – Sycamore Industrial Design & Holdings Enterprises. They were represented at the auction last night by a Ms. Beth Hill, she signed the guestbook," one of the agents reported.

"Do you have an address?" Manning asked.

"Just for the business," the other said. "The credit card she used at the shop was in the company name, so the address is the same. We've started a background check on the business. It may take some time to get the personal addresses of the employees."

"What possible use could an industrial design company have with a 13th century golden cylinder?" Abe mused aloud.

"More importantly, what's so special about the cylinder?" Liz added.

* * *

A/N: As always, let me know if there are any errors I missed.

Here we begin the build up to the drama. Oh drama, what would life be like without you?

Reviews=Joy


	4. Chapter 4: Entering and Breaking News

Fallen

Chapter 4: Entering and Breaking News

The offices of Sycamore Industrial Design & Holdings Enterprises were located in a pristine metal and glass building in downtown Manhattan nine blocks from the auction house they had visited the night before. The business district was virtually deserted at two in the morning, save the occasional bum asleep in a doorway. Hellboy and Abraham could walk the street without fear of being seen or photographed, much to Manning's delight and Red's irritation. The brass plaque beside the door read that the building was award winning for energy efficiency and integration of "green" technology.

From the back of the garbage truck, agents hacked into the building's security system, shutting down the alarms and feeding the footage of empty hallways back to the guard's station so the tapes would not show the agents searching the building. Abe quickly picked the lock and they were inside before anyone on the street could know they were there.

The walls along the lobby boasted pictures of the buildings the firm had designed. There was a small model of a building and park encased in glass. Samples of solar panels and recycled materials were laid out on pedestals for clients to inspect. Framed news articles hanging on the walls showed the firm's civic works projects, making the inner city more livable with parks, pools and programs. The design firm specialized in restoring, preserving and repurposing old buildings. "Doing our part to keep unsightly sprawl at bay," read a sign hanging behind the receptionist's empty desk.

"A company after your fairy heart," Red commented to Nuada.

"Hardly."

Abe felt the air with his bare hand, using his psychic abilities to "see" all that had happened in the hallway over the past hours. He saw curriers come and go carrying tubes and packages, clients enter and leave, designers waving goodbye to the receptionist before the cleaning crew came in for the night. Their conversations were muddled, but Abe knew the name he was searching for. As the final cleaner finished polishing the door, a woman exited the stairwell and turned to leave. Abe heard the woman wish the cleaner good night, the cleaner replied the same, calling the woman by her name – Miss Hill.

"I think I have her. Your hand, Nuada."

The prince held up his gloved hand. Abe pressed his palm to Nuada's and let the prince see what he saw, the woman in the lobby leaving for the night. On the previous occasions Nuada had seen her, Miss Beth Hill was looking pale and frightened, in shock after witnessing a supernatural attack. Here, through Abe's psychic memory, she was tall, confident, though still quite pale.

"That is her."

"Excellent." Abe pulled his hand away. Now that he had the woman in his sight he could follow her backward. Up the stairs three flights, through a corridor and into a large office overlooking the street. Here he watched her last few hours in the office. She worked on the computer, argued with contractors over the phone, sent out several deliveries by assorted curriers, conferenced with designers. It was all so ordinary; he could not believe she had witnessed a troll attack only a day before. She must be extraordinarily resilient. The last phone call came to her mobile phone. She fished the tiny device from her hand bag and answered it:

"Hello, father … No, I didn't get it. They attacked before it was up for auction… It is but one piece, father, one of many. The rest are accounted for... I have sent them by various curriers. …Yes, they should all be there by tomorrow. I will be there shortly." She snapped the phone shut and hurried to leave.

"Oh dear," Abe said.

"What?" Red asked.

"It appears that Miss Hill was after the golden cylinder last night. There may be more in her possession."

"We gotta find out what those things do," Red said. He glared at Nuada, "Any clues?"

"Not without first examining the cylinder."

"Wherever she has sent the cylinders, she may be there, too, by now. We must find out where she has gone. She was speaking to her father," Abe said thoughtfully. "Perhaps she is going to him."

"I got employee addresses." Agent Silver said. He was sitting at Hill's computer, searching through employee files. He found Beth Hill's own personnel file, complete with the woman's address and her father's address listed under 'emergency contact.' He copied all the computer's files onto a portable hard drive. They could search it for important information when they were safely back in Newark.

"Quite a lot of encrypted files on here," Silver commented. "Way more than you'd expect on an architectural design company's computer. Wonder what they're hiding."

"Worry about it later. Give me the addresses," Liz spoke through the radio. "I'll get agents to check them out."

Liz typed the addresses into the mobile command computer. From there they went to the BPRD's main headquarters and were relayed to local agents. They would know within two hours if there was anything worth checking out at either site.

"Don't see why they sent us on this mission," Red muttered as they went back out into the street.

"I quite agree, demon," Nuada spoke. "What possible use could you be on a mission where stealth and delicacy are required?"

Red gave him the best glare he could muster, but it was lacking in punch; he had been thinking the same thing. He was good at breaking and shooting, not picking locks and hacking computers. This mission required the agents to leave no evidence behind. Leaving evidence – bloody, mangled evidence – was all Red was really good at. Sure he saved the world a few times, but he always left a lot of evidence in the process.

Nuada could have needled Hellboy further, but felt certain the demon was torturing himself sufficiently and said nothing more for the duration of the drive.

The Squeaky Clean-Up garbage trucks backed up to the rear entrance of the building and the back doors opened. Agent Silver took his equipment quickly back to the lab to begin decrypting the files he found on the Syracuse Industrial computer. The rest of the agents moved at a more casual pace. There was no paperwork worth mentioning after this mission, so they were in no hurry.

Nuada vanished from sight. He had no need to practice his ability to disappear from one location and appear ghostlike and undetected in another. It was inherent to his people, though some were more skilled than others. He had easily used it to infiltrate this very building. He reappeared in the library, arriving well before any of the other agents. He was debating whether he should stay and frighten them when he felt a strange pang in his gut. He felt a sudden and all-consuming concerned, though about what he didn't know. Humans were known to have irrational fears and panic attacks; had he spent so much time around them that he had been infected by these psychoses?

He quickly retreated to his rooms before the others could arrive and see this unexplained weakness.

* * *

Early the next day, Nuada rose. The odd pang was gone, but the echo of it remained. He remembered the odd, unexplained sensation, and worried about what it could mean. He trained, harder than he normally would have, practicing with every weapon at his disposal. He wanted to exhaust himself so that he might forget the feeling that so crippled him the night before. It didn't work.

Nuada ate and bathed and went to the conference room to wait for the others. The routine was no comfort to him. The agents were slower than usual coming in this morning. The late night mission affected their sleep patterns. Manning entered, spoke and the agents began to file out to complete their assigned tasks. The whole meeting had lasted an hour, but Nuada had not registered a single word of it. No one looked at him, so he took that to mean he had no duty to perform that day.

As the remaining agents stood to leave, Nuada felt a presence. His other half, his sister, was near. Moments later the buzzer sounded to warn of the descent of the elevator platform. Her presence irritated him, but her method of entering the building angered him. She possessed the same innate grace and abilities as he, but she chose to arrive as the humans did. She betrayed him, aided his enemies and was now content to move as one of them. Perhaps what angered him most is that he could not speak to her of this concern he had felt.

"Nuala!" Abraham, the reason for her turning on her blood and people, all but ran across the room.

"Abraham," Nuala smiled.

Abe took her delicate pale hand in hers, not in his usual way, not to read her thoughts and motivations but as a sign of affection. He folded her hand gently in his own. Though blue and webbed, his were possibly the most tender fingers that could ever have been placed upon hers. Nuada was sickened by the sight of them.

He pushed himself swiftly off the wall and strode past them. No one would dare stop him.

"Nuada."

No one but Nuala would dare stop him.

"My brother, I am not here for a social visit," she spoke kindly, but he could hear the urgency. "You must stay."

For a moment he allowed the bond between them to strengthen, allowed himself to feel her thoughts and emotions. She was consumed by a great concern, as he had been. He turned and for the first time in nearly a year looked his sister in the eye. In her golden eyes, so like his own, he saw worry on a grand scale.

"Anything for you, sister."

"Princess," Manning shook her hand awkwardly. "You have news?"

"I have," she steadied herself. "I have been to the troll market and heard some grave news. Our world has fallen into chaos. Our people are divided into ancient factions and are declaring war upon each other."

"Why?" Nuada asked.

"There is no heir to our father's throne. As far as our people are concerned, you are dead." Nuada looked away from his sister's gaze. "Our father kept the peace among our people for millennia; his steady hand and strong mind saw that the old alliances were honored. Without him, no one can control the ancient lords and their ambitions."

"What does this mean?" Abe asked.

"For you and your people, probably nothing, but for ours…"

"Death." Nuada gritted his teeth at the word. He had meant to save his people, but his actions brought them closer to extinction. The pain wrenched his gut as it had the night before; this time it was his own anxiety, not his sister's, that ripped at him.

* * *

A/N: Sucks to be Nuada right now, eh?

Reviews = Joy


	5. Chapter 5: Into the Woods

Fallen

Chapter 5: Into the Woods

The two teams had been sent at morning to search the homes of Beth Hill and Adam March, her father. The Hill team had only to drive to the Bronx, wait for Beth Hill to leave for work and begin their search. They found nothing out of the ordinary. Despite her obsession with collecting houseplants, Hill's apartment could have belonged to anyone. No cylinders, no computer files about cylinders or encrypted files potentially about cylinders on her computer, nothing. The March team had a tougher assignment. Their target was in upstate New York halfway between two wide spots in the road that were diluted enough to call themselves towns. Gibbs and his team took the BPRD transport plane to the nearest airstrip, signed out a sedan and headed west to find March and search his house.

They left Newark at 0900 hours, signed for the car at 0941. That was the last time Gibbs and his team were seen. The pilot radioed HQ when the team missed their scheduled radio updates at 1200 and 1400. He returned to Newark without Gibbs or his three team members at 1500.

Manning scrambled to get more information. He had the BPRD plane making mile-wide passes of the area around March's address photographing and scanning the area – infrared scans, thermal images, the works. Mentally he was preparing false cause of death reports for the four agents. He was running out of excuses to give to bereaved loved ones about why they had no body to bury. While he enjoyed the mental exercise as much as the next guy, it was getting a little depressing. Just this once, he would like to have a team that had mysteriously dropped out of radio contact return unharmed. Red grinned at the thought of being the hero, even to just four members of his own agency.

* * *

It was a short flight into the mountains of upstate New York. Ages ago they had been more magnificent than the Himalayas, now they were time-worn, humbled by rain, wind and man. Like the sycophant trees of the city, these hills were far greener than they should be for the time of year. The whole area looked much like the rolling hills of Ireland, where Red and his freakish family had quit their jobs. It all seemed so simple at the time, but the only one able to stay away was Dr. Fishbowl. He didn't need to eat, sleep or support a family. More importantly, he was an expert, a go-to guy to whom anyone needing help with ectoplasmic research could turn. Hellboy didn't envy the man's confidence, but he did envy him that much. What could they turn to him for? Smashing or shooting something? So he was back on the job, looking for the home of Adam March, father of Beth Hill.

There was no mailbox to mark the location of March's home. There was a dirt driveway, barely visible through the web of branches and foliage. The four-door sedan in government standard black was the only clue that they were in the right spot.

"And you thought my room was bad," Red commented to Liz.

"Who could live in a place like this?" Liz muttered. She was struggling to find her way through the maze of fallen trees and overgrown shrubs. Nuada wanted to point out that this is what the world was meant to be. It was only the humans that prevented it from returning to this natural splendor. But he said nothing; to them this was a mess, chaotic, dirty and damp. To him, it was all that was beautiful. Seeing this natural splendor brought some semblance of calm to his turbulent thoughts.

"Stop!" Abe held up his hand, as much a gesture to warn them as to sense the events of the past. "The team came this way. They were being watched." He pointed to a security camera in a tree.

"Damn. Where's the garbage truck when you need it?" Red spat.

"There will be more and anti-intrusion measures," Abe said. "That is likely what happened to the first team."

"How do we turn them off if we can't get near them?" Agent Cole asked. He didn't like the idea of 'anti-intrusion measures.'

Abe looked to Nuada.

"Yeah, you're a sneaky bastard." Red agreed. "You could surprise a freakin' ninja."

Irritated as he was, Nuada did not roll his eyes. He was not the petulant child; that description fell to Hellboy. He simply slipped into the forest, his feet never snapping a twig nor stepping on a dried leaf. The team watched the camera, waiting for some sign that it had been disconnected. There was no light to indicate if it was recording, so they had no choice but to stand there. They listened, but heard nothing; watched, but saw nothing. Abe held his bare palm to the air, trying to sense the prince's movements, but with little success.

"It is done," Nuada said from behind them. Red and Liz spun around in surprise, their guns trained on him. "I have cleared the way. Follow my path and no other."

"Sneaky bastard," Red muttered, keeping his gun raised.

Nuada moved like the nature child he was, easily climbing over fallen trees and under low hanging limbs. Despite his years underground, he never forgot what it was to live in the forests. The others, having spent their lives in cities and suburbs, were out of their depths. The first fallen tree was a massive undertaking, the second was even worse. Red hit his head on every low branch because he kept his eyes trained everywhere but where he was walking.

At the sound of movement in the trees nearby, Red took off to the left, running at full speed. The others followed, not daring to call out to him. His path was not difficult to follow; he broke branches and stomped down young trees with each step. As he ran through a small clearing the ground fell away beneath his feet, and he was suddenly dangling upside down several feet above the ground. Ammunition and candy bar wrappers escaped his pockets as he was upturned, before his coat felt the tug of gravity and fell over his head.

"Anti-intrusion measures, I said," Abe reminded him.

"Yeah, yeah, gemme down."

Nuada considered leaving him there for the duration of the mission, as he was clearly a liability in this setting. As he stood with his head tilted looking at the hanging demon, Liz elbowed him sharply in the ribs. Women could be so protective of the father of their children. He cut the rope and let the demon crash head first onto the ground. Red's skull was so dense it would do little long term damage.

"I saw movement. It looked like someone was running away," Red explained to Liz.

"It was a deer, demon," Nuada pointed through the trees. A deer was bounding away, flashing its white tail at them. Red wanted to shoot it for making him feel like an idiot. "Come, we must return to our original path."

Another five minutes found them at the door to a cottage. The building had once been painted yellow, but the siding was covered by thick layers of lichen. Its thatched roof was covered in moss and birds were nesting happily in the eves. The cottage looked as though it was literally returning to nature, except for the front door, which was painted a vibrant blue. The rest of the cottage was neglected, falling into disrepair, but the door looked brand new.

"Let's go say 'hi'," Red pulled his gun out and moved toward the door.

Abe put his hand to the wood of the door. He closed his eyes in concentration, using all his frontal lobe to see what was beyond it. He pulled his hand away sharply.

"Two agents reached this point. The door was not locked. They entered and suddenly ceased to exist." Abe said.

"Yeah, right," Red scoffed.

"I'm quite certain. The moment the door closed behind them, they were simply no longer there." Abe assured him.

"What happens if we go in?" Liz worried.

"No doubt, we, too, would disappear."

* * *

A/N: Ooooh. What's behind door No. 1? We may never know!


	6. Chapter 6: Lost and Found

Fallen

Chapter 6: Lost and Found

This was just wrong. Houses should not cause people to disappear, Red thought to himself. It should be the other way around. But there they were, standing miles from anywhere in the middle of the woods, in front of a decrepit old house that apparently ate people.

"I don't like it," Red said. "We came to find the old man and our agents. You're saying none of them are here?"

"Correct," Abe said.

"Let's check around the other side. Maybe there's another entrance that won't cause complete non-existence," Liz said.

She walked to the left, looking in the low windows of the cottage. What she could make out through the dirt-encrusted glass looked normal. She could see a rocking chair and a worn sofa, in front of the dark fireplace. She turned the corner and kept searching through the glass. There was a small bedroom, a kitchen and tiny bathroom. There were no more doors, just windows. She looked over her shoulder, and saw the others looking equally perplexed.

As they reached the front she found Nuada had not moved. He was watching them, looking amused and slightly confused. She wanted to ask what he was looking at, but it was senseless to ask him anything. Nuada would just insult her, then Red would get angry and try to protect her; there would be fighting and the forest would end up in flames when she got upset. Better to just leave it be, she thought. Let the prince mock them, so long as he kept his blackened lips shut.

"This doesn't make sense," she could not keep the frustration from her voice. Two agents lost in the house, two others in the woods. Suddenly she missed the trolls.

"We could try the windows," Agent Cole suggested.

"Do you really want to risk disappearing?" Red asked.

They were down to their only options, walk away or go inside. They stood silent for some time considering. The wind blew cool, clean air across their faces. The sun shone down on them through the trees, making playful shadows dance across their feet. It was beautiful, but they were too confused, angry or terrified to see it. Nuada saw it. He was pained to see it, to be so close to the wild and not be able to stay. He was bound to these people, a slave to their cause. He could no more break from them than he could rescue his people from inevitable extinction. Extinction caused by his own actions.

As they stood in contemplation, the blue door opened and five figures stepped out. Liz found this odd because the cottage seemed far too small to accommodate five people. Also, as they circled the house, peering in the windows, there had been no sign of life within. Where had these five been hiding?

There were four men, each in a black suit and tie. The missing BPRD agents. They looked dazed or drugged, their shoulders slumped and arms hanging heavily by their sides. The fifth figure was a woman. She was turned away from them, her face barely a profile from where Red's team stood partially hidden by trees. Unlike the men, she looked prepared for a hike in the wood, wearing blue jeans and a loose, long-sleeved shirt. She was nearly the same height as the agents, her skin was alabaster, her hair long and light brown. She said something to the men, and they started walking purposefully through the forest toward the road, though their eyes remained glazed and arms limp. She watched them for a moment then turned, and the light hit her face, allowing them to see her.

"Beth Hill," Abe said.

At the sound of her name, the woman snapped her head in their direction. She looked at the strange agents, saw their drawn guns. There was a moment when it appeared she might approach them or speak, but it fell away. Hill turned gracefully on her heels and fled. The others scrambled to follow before they lost sight of her; Nuada took one last look at the strange blue door before following.

Beth Hill practically flew across the uneven ground, vaulting over fallen trees like an Olympic gymnast without looking back to see if anyone was following. She wove a serpentine path through the trees and bushes, hoping to lose anyone capable of keeping up with her. It did not take long for her to lose most of the agents to obstacles or fatigue. Only Nuada could match her speed.

He should have been able to catch her easily, but she knew this forest better than he did and used that knowledge to her advantage. She tried to snare him in one of the traps laid along the ground; he was nearly on her when he tripped a thin rope hidden in the low brush. The rope triggered the trap. A massive tree trunk fell from above, crashing through boughs as if they were made of cardboard. The heavy battering ram swung down at him, fast and threatening. It had been centuries since he had seen this type of trap. His reflexes were well trained regardless of the obstacle. He leapt aside as the log whipped past; the air around him swirled from its passage, tugging at his ivory hair and the hanging sash of his belt. The trap had not harmed him physically, but he lost time. In the seconds it took him to avoid the trap, Beth Hill continued running and gained considerable distance. She reached the road, jumped into her waiting car and raced off. Nuada erupted from the trees to find the fresh rubber she had left on the pavement. All he could do was breathe the exhaust of her hybrid car.

He took his time on the way back. He was searching for clues that Beth Hill may have dropped in her rushed escape. But mainly he enjoyed the view, the smells and sounds, the feel of the wilderness. His callused hands touched the rough barks of the pine and maple, the smooth skin of a birch that had just pealed its outer layer, a soft fern and sharp holly. This patch of forest was a heaven on this polluted planet. He had to assume that things would only get worse once his people went to war. Even living in hiding, his people held onto their natural magic and used it to protect the wilderness near their homes. When they went to battle, the magic would be weakened. All he had to comfort him was what he could feel and smell and see here in this forest. He had to enjoy this moment before it was lost.

All too soon he could see the others. They were not far from where they had lost sight of the woman or been crippled by physical insufficiency. They feared stumbling into a hidden trap, and waited for Nuada to find them, to lead them to safety. It was ironic that they should rely on an enemy to save them.

"She got away?" Liz asked. Nuada only nodded.

"I was right, she is hot," Red commented. "No wonder you noticed her."

"Demon, do you wish for me to leave you alone in these woods to find your own path?" Nuada's gold eyes glared up at Hellboy. The red man chewed on his cigar, but made no reply. "I thought not."

Nuada, an antagonistic Sherpa, led them safely to their destination. They reached the road within minutes, their SUVs parked beside the sleek black car the original investigative team had driven. The four original agents were free of their daze now, and were standing around arguing with one another.

"Sir!" one came up to them. "What happened?"

"You didn't report in," Liz told them. "We came to find out why. What do you remember about the cottage in the forest?"

Again the odd look played across the prince's face, something akin to amusement.

"Agents Gold and Felds-Par were lost in the woods. Agent Quarzo and I found the cottage," the lead agent indicated the olive skinned man nearby. "Visual examination indicated it was unoccupied, and the only point of entry was the single front door. We entered and … uh.." He looked to Quarzo, hoping the agent could fill in his failing memory.

"We must have blacked out, sir," Quarzo finished lamely. "I remember following Agent Gibbs into the building, hearing the door close, then I was here by the car."

The others nodded. They had both blacked out in the forest, only to find themselves standing by the car with no memory of having brought themselves there.

"Do you remember a woman? Tall, light skin, light brown hair." Liz asked.

"Freakishly fast runner," Red added.

"No, sir."

"Damn."

"Sir?"

"We'll return to HQ and figure out what happened," Liz instructed the junior agents.

The drive to the air strip was painfully quiet. How would they explain this? Two agents lost the woods, despite having satellite navigation systems built into their mobile phones. Two agents enter a cottage in the woods and have no memory of what was inside, nor the woman that led them out. The team was used to the impossible, but not the unexplainable. They had fought forest gods and Russian mystics, raised the dead with amulets and ectoplasm, defeated an Elf prince and his indestructible mechanical army. A tiny house with a blue door should be nothing after all that.

Sitting in the rear of the BRPD transport plane, Hellboy mulled over these irritatingly unexplained events. He chewed so viciously on his cigar that he bit clear through it, half of it falling to the floor by his feet. He glanced around to make sure no one noticed, only to see that damned smirk on Nuada's face. He saw that smirk back in the woods and by the cars, now he was still wearing it over an hour later.

"Fairy bastard," Red pointed across the cargo hold. "You know somethin'."

"I know many things."

"You've been wearing that grin since we saw that cottage. Why?"

"I saw no cottage, only the door."

"What do you mean?" Liz asked.

"There was no cottage."

"Yes, there was. We all saw it." Liz insisted. Then realized what type of being she was speaking to, what his people were capable of. "Glamour?"

Nuada nodded, his amused grin still firmly in place.

"Why did you not say so back in the forest?" Abe asked.

"It would have made no difference. Whatever lay beyond the door would have affect me as it did your agents, seeing it would not have lessened that effect."

"We should return with the Schufftein Glasses."

"Seeing will make no difference." Nuada repeated.

* * *

A/N: In attempting to keep with HB canon, all agents are being named after minerals, metals or stuff otherwise found in or on the ground. Felds-Par is feldspar. Quarzo is Italian for quartz. Gibbs is short for gibbsite, a mineral component of bauxite.


	7. Chapter 7: Watching, Waiting

Fallen

Chapter 7: Watching, Waiting

Manning rubbed the top of his head. Just ten years earlier there would have been thick hair beneath his fingers. Ever since he was transferred to the Bureau of Paranormal Research and Defense, he started losing it. With every mission, some hair left him. With every blurred picture sent to the media, he came away with a fistful of shed hair. With every report to his superiors, he gained face. This was sure to be another one of those missions. He sent them out to keep trolls from destroying Manhattan, and it was turning into the Golden Army Affair all over again.

Golden Army, golden cylinder, what was the difference? And did it really matter? It was all leading him to an early grave or an early retirement, which amounted to the same thing.

"A cottage?" he repeated.

"It appeared to be one, yes," Abe said. "Without the Schufftein Glasses to see through the veil of glamour we cannot know what was really there."

"There was nothing there. Just the door," Nuada replied.

"Agent Gibbs and his team went somewhere," Liz insisted. "They weren't just hiding behind the door. There was something there that made them vanish or transported them somewhere, somehow."

"Actually, the glamour that made us see the cottage could easily have been powerful enough to disguise any portals hidden behind the door," Abe said. "If we return with the Glasses, we should be able to tell more."

"Portal?" Manning felt the skin on his head loosen around the remaining hair follicles. "You mean like a wormhole? Or… or a vortex?" That sounded bad, end of the world bad.

"Not necessarily. It could be as simple as a doorway leading underground," Abe reasoned.

"If that cottage was an illusion of glamour," Agent Cole spoke up. "Does that mean Beth Hill and her father are fae?"

Everyone turned to Nuada.

"She is not of my people," Nuada stated without doubt.

"How can you be sure?" Cole pressed.

"I would have seen through the cloak of glamour as I did with the cottage. She was not cloaked. She was as you saw her."

"Anything else?"

"The woman dropped this as she ran," Nuada put a piece of paper on the table. "It is a date and location, nothing more."

Abe took the paper and examined it. The note had been written on the back of an old business letter. The Sycamore Industrial letterhead adorned one side. The reverse held a hand-written date and time, just as Nuada said. The paper had been folded tightly but had since been smoothed flat, probably by Nuada. Abe tried to sense any additional information attached to it. All he could see through his psychic connection was the prince retrieving it. The note had been written too long ago.

"This date is tomorrow," Abe said and passed the paper on. "This address is in Manhattan. 175 East 87th… I'm unfamiliar with that address."

"It's another auction house," Agent Silver said. "I decrypted the files on Hill's computer. They are all about the golden cylinders. She's been searching for them for years, through appraisers, antique shops and auction houses as far away as China. She has details on archaeological digs where the cylinders were discovered, and the personal information of anyone that has ever acquired one. There is a file on one golden cylinder, apparently the last of them, which is being put up for auction tomorrow night at Boyle's Auction House on East 87th."

"Twenty bucks says the trolls will be there," Red smacked his left hand on the table. No one took him up on the bet.

"Set up surveillance cameras. I want a team inside that auction before the trolls strike this time, and one on top of this Hill woman from now until the auction is over," Manning said.

"His Royal Assness would _love_ that assignment," Hellboy said, then added in a stage whisper. "He thinks she's hot."

Manning needed to get to the pharmacy. He didn't have enough antacid to get him through till tomorrow night.

* * *

Two agents sat outside Beth Hill's apartment building in the Bronx. Reclined in their seats, hidden behind the pillars of the SUV, they were all but invisible. Agent Gold thought it strange they were using such traditional methods of surveillance when they worked for the BPRD; the 'P' stood for paranormal, so he assumed they would have some ghost on the payroll to do it, or that they would have figured out how to make agents literally invisible. But no, he was stuck overnight in a car.

Beth Hill arrived shortly after eight PM; she parked and went inside. He stared intently at the woman. According to Hellboy's team he had stood within feet of that woman outside the blue door and imagined cottage. She was indeed attractive, and Gold should have remembered her. But she was only recognizable to him from the photographs shown at the briefing.

Despite running into the agents in the woods upstate earlier in the day, Hill was not being overly cautious. She just locked her car and went into the building. Gold was disappointed. It was no fun tailing a person who wasn't paranoid. Paranoid targets were alert, made sudden moves and required him to keep on his toes to remain unseen. This would be too easy, boring even.

"So what d'ya think of Nuada?" his partner asked.

"Guy's an asshole," Gold said. "Don't tell him I said that, though. He'd kick my ass."

"Yeah, he totally would."

"Shut up – hey, she's in the window." Gold motioned up to the top floor. The target, Beth Hill, glanced down at her car, and then closed the blinds and curtains.

"Chicken has come home to roost," Gold said into his radio.

"Acknowledged," a voice crackled back.

Now all they had to do was sit and wait until their relief arrived or until something happened.

A sharp rap at the passenger window drew Gold's attention away from the apartment. His hand immediately flew to his holster, but his eyes fell on the red belt buckle showing a fist holding a sword. It was a fellow BPRD agent. It was also three in the morning, so this must be their relief. Gold suddenly realized that all the coffee he drank over the last few hours had hit bottom, and he _really_ needed relieving. He and his partner slid out the passenger side of the SUV, the morning crew slid in. To the casual observer, the four men were identical, and no one would know a switch had taken place.

Gold and his partner found the black sedan the other agents had driven, climbed in, and drove back to Newark. The traffic at three o'clock in the morning was blessedly light, as would be the paperwork for the night's stake out. Gold and his partner would have their reports filed inside of twenty minutes. He smiled at the thought of the full eight hours of sleep he would be getting before he had to report to the auction house the next night. If he was lucky, he might even make it onto the team staking out the auction from the inside.

Gold, it turned out, was not lucky. He reported to the briefing at 1700 hours. There were twenty agents, including Hellboy and his team. Gold kept his eyes averted when Nuada entered the room. He could not be certain that the prince hadn't heard what Gold said about him last night. The prince had been working with the Bureau for close to a year now, and he still terrified the majority of the agents. The elf prince would appear out of nowhere, catching even the most well-trained agent by surprise. Gold felt certain Nuada knew that he had called the prince an asshole, even if his partner hadn't said a word.

Manning entered and stood behind a lectern. The screen behind him flickered to life as the briefing began.

"We have reason to believe that the troll attacks over the past several months have all been in connection with these – Golden Cylinders. Eight in all. Though found on various continents and dated across centuries, all eight are identical. We do not know the purpose they serve or what interest the trolls have in them. We also know that this woman, Beth Hill, has also been acquiring these Golden Cylinders over the past ten years. According to information discovered by our agents, the last of these cylinders is being put up for auction tonight," Manning paused as the map of downtown Manhattan came up on the screen.

"Given the trolls' recent attack patterns, we believe they will attempt to infiltrate the auction house from all ground level access points after the guests have arrived and the auction has begun. We will place surveillance and support teams outside the building here and here," he indicated the buildings directly opposite the two entrances.

"These teams will be led by Agents Felds-Parr and Agent Gibbs. A third team consisting of Agent Nuada will be stationed here on the roof. These three units will be supporting Agent Hellboy and his team, who will be stationed here. Agents Cole and Sherman will be undercover as guests inside the auction." Here he paused again, but this time for dramatic effect.

"Your main goal in this mission is to subdue the trolls before they reach the auction. Failing that, you are to keep them from acquiring the golden cylinder and from harming civilians."

"Sir?" Agent Cole spoke. "Are we considering the Hill woman a civilian or a target in this mission?"

"Beth Hill is a person of interest. Keep her in your sights, but do not approach."

With that the briefing was over. The teams met to strategize and coordinate. They had four hours until the start of the auction. Four hours to get on site, set up and sweep for trolls. Four hours to prepare for every possible calamity. And, in Liz's case, four hours to figure out what to wear.

* * *

A/N:Ok, so not much happened in this chapter. Truth be told, it exists simply for Red's comment that Nuada would love to be on top of Beth. I'm so crass.

The address for Boyle's (175 East 87th St. NY, NY) is the address of Doyle New York Auctioneers & Appraisers. Never been, but they have a very lovely website.

And to the few reading this story as I'm posting it in August 2010, I have changed the location of Hill's apartment from Staten Island to the Bronx for reasons of transportation that matter later in the story. I apologize, and have already changed it to the Bronx in Chapter 5.


	8. Chapter 8: Distinguishingly Disguised

Fallen

Chapter 8: Distinguishingly Disguised

An old man met them at the door. In addition to his tailored suit, he wore a condescending smile beneath an impeccably waxed mustache. His polished shoes glowed almost as much as his eyes in the low light. He took their forged invitation in a steady, white-gloved hand. Liz frequently argued with a six-and-a-half-foot tall, bright red demon sent to bring about the destruction of the world, but she was having a hard time not showing her fear of this old man.

"Ms. Elizabeth Sherman and Mr. Francis Cole of the Newark Antique Commission," he read the invitation, surreptitiously feeling the card to ensure the embossed letters were present. After deciding the invitation was legitimate, his smile improved.

"Welcome," he said, stepping aside to let them enter.

A young man in a suit stepped forward and took their coats. Liz was reluctant to remove hers. The only dress she could find to match the occasion was cut lower than she would have liked, drawing attention from some of the nearby guests. She hated being stared at, even in a complimentary manner. Agent Cole took her arm reassuringly and led her further into the room.

The building was beautiful. The hard wood floors were so polished they reflected like mirrors; the walls hung with tapestries and paintings older than the country in which they now made their home; a milk glass chandelier diffused the light, making even the modern electric bulbs throw a flattering glow across the aging guests in attendance. It looked like the stately home of an aristocrat, not some money-making enterprise. Having spent most of her life in Section 51 or psychiatric hospitals, Liz was quite put out by the opulence. What had Manning been thinking assigning her to go undercover here? How could she possibly pass as one of them?

Liz took the drink offered to her, just wetting her lips to give the appearance that she was drinking. Much as she wanted to down the Champaign and reach for another one, she needed to maintain composure. It would not do to burst into nervous flames while undercover. She moved with Cole around the room, making some small talk with the guests. It wasn't hard to pretend they represented an antiquity commission. Section 51 was filled with relics they had acquired throughout the Bureau's existence; they just had to omit certain details about the acquiring and purpose of the relics.

Liz found Abe's added support helpful. He spoke into the radios in their ears, giving them all the tedious details of the "commission's" latest finds. He was the Cyrano de Bergerac of antiquities. Liz would have to let some eggs go rotten for him. Nothing said 'thank you for keeping me from looking like an idiot' like rotten eggs, at least not where Abe was concerned.

"Ten o'clock," Cole whispered into Liz's ear.

She glanced over and saw their person of interest, Beth Hill, entering the building. Unlike Liz, she looked completely at ease in her gown and with her surroundings. The doorman did not even request her invitation, let alone inspect it. The old man bowed slightly to her, and spoke to her kindly. Ms. Hill must have been a frequent visitor to this establishment. Liz wondered how many visits the woman had made to Boyle's in search of her golden prizes. Hill didn't appear much older than Liz, but she was greeted at every turn as if she was the oldest and dearest friend the guests had. Money and good looks could make anyone popular, Liz thought. And Hill had both in abundance.

"Ladies and gentlemen," a voice called across the foyer. "The viewing will begin momentarily. Please finish your drinks and follow me."

"What's a viewing?" Liz whispered. Cole shrugged. They joined the well-dressed crowd as it made its way up the impressively sweeping staircase. They entered the auction staging room and filed slowly past the items up for auction. The items ranged from pre-Roman pottery and statuary to modern paintings, with any number of variations in between. The only connection these pieces had to one another was that they had all belonged to the late Mrs. Abigail Greene, a collector of epic proportions. She left nothing but debt to her children, who saw no need to keep a house full of old junk when they could have lovely full bank accounts.

"Third in front," Cole muttered. Liz glanced at the line. Before them in line a middle-aged couple stood looking at the diamond necklaces, in front of them stood Beth Hill. To the untrained observer she appeared bored by the selection, glancing with disinterest at the tagged items before her. Cole, however, had extensive training in reading body language, and he could read in the subtle signals an intense interest in one particular item – a golden cylinder marked '617' sitting on the table directly in front of her. Cole was certain if there hadn't been a room filled with witnesses the woman would have slipped Lot 617 into her glittering clutch.

The line continued until all items had been viewed. The seventy-two guests took their seats, Agents Cole and Sherman placed themselves purposefully behind Beth Hill, and the auction began. A glance between them spoke to the concern of both agents. Would the trolls make it through? There was no doubt in their mind that the attack would come.

Outside in the street, Red muttered to himself. His girl was in there with that pretty-boy agent; in there with the normal people; in there where the danger was. And he was in the garbage truck. Agent Silver was waggling his fingers over the keyboard, changing the camera feeds every few seconds. All the screens showed troll-free roads and alleys. The auction had only just started, but they felt certain the trolls would be attacking any time now.

"Sit tight, Babe," Red reassured her. "No trolls yet."

On the roof, Nuada waited impatiently. He sliced viciously at the air with his shortened lance. He was told not to enter the building without orders, but there was little point in his remaining on the roof. The trolls were far too large to climb the ladder, so he would not meet them in battle and prevent them from entering through the entrance he guarded. He was not even needed as a sentry; the humans and their cameras were keeping watch as well as he could. He knew he had been placed atop the roof to keep him far from Hellboy so he would not antagonize the demon into exposing their presence. So he was alone on the dark roof, looking out over miles of endless city. He glared down at the street.

Manning was used to his unique agents ignoring his authority, he should expect no different from Nuada. With one final stab at the empty air, Nuada entered the building. It was dark and quiet. The top floor was used for restoration of paintings, but all the workers were home at this hour. The various stations each held works that humans would have considered masterpieces, but they looked clumsy and childish compared to the works of his own people's skilled hands. Nuada saddened at the thought of all the works that would never be produced when his people died out in the coming civil war. All the skills that would die with the artisans – the black- and whitesmiths, the sculptors, the poets and even the humble historians. No one would remember his people or what they were capable of accomplishing. They had hidden themselves away, and now they would destroy themselves. They would leave the world poorer for their absence and the humans would never even know.

He glared at the corpulent nude reclining on a chaise. High art indeed.

The hallway was empty, no one stood watch. The security guards were stationed on the lower levels to keep the moneyed guests safe. Nuada need not have kept to the shadows, but he did so all the same. All the rooms were the same on the topmost floor, empty save for the works of art. He moved silently down to the floor below. This story belonged to the appraisers. A dozen or so small offices were packed with books on every era of art and culture and boxes of artifacts to be valued. None of the offices were occupied. Nuada checked each of them.

In all the offices he found only one reference to the golden cylinder, which was scribbled in an untidy hand in a notebook. It read, "Quality gold and craftsmanship. Date and origin unknown. $100K?" Nuada was sickened by the ignorance.

He left the office and peered down over the banister to the next level. He saw lights and the motion of security guards making their slow route around the auction floor. The abrupt rap of a gavel told him the auction was in progress. The trolls should be arriving soon, but he heard nothing on the radio. For the first time since the BPRD realized the trolls were attacking for a purpose, Nuada considered the concept of time. Or rather, trolls' concept of time. In all the years he knew Mr. Wink, the troll never truly grasped how human's measured time. How was it that these trolls had coordinated their entry into Blackwood's at the exact time of the golden cylinder's sale? The humans began the auction at such an arbitrary time that the trolls could never have reconciled it with fae time measurements. There must be someone else involved in the planning of these assaults, it was the only explanation.

Still standing at the banister, Nuada smelled a familiar odor. It was earthy and pungent and slightly foul around the edges, the smell of troll. It was faint, but there was no mistaking it. He listened hard and heard their familiar labored breathing. Trolls often suffered from respiratory problems. Their nostrils were far too small to accommodate the amount of air it took to fuel so large a body, which left them wheezing. For this reason many trolls entered into the apothecary field, studying the medicines required to cure themselves and their kind. It seemed an odd fit for creatures so well adapted to battering, but the rest of the fae world benefited from the trolls' advances in healing science. Few realized that the massive troll market under the Brooklyn Bridge began as one small apothecary stall in 1884.

"The cylinder is almost up for bid," Liz whispered into the radio, bringing Nuada's thoughts back to the present.

"Still no trolls," Red told her.

No trolls? He could smell them. He could hear them. They were in the building, on the floor below him. How could they have gotten in without the teams outside seeing?

Nuada moved to the next level, appearing in the shadow of a massive Sumerian frieze. He could see the door to the auction room. It was closed, a guard stood to one side. Another guard stood at the landing, watching the stairs. The truth of what happened at Blackwood's may have spread to the other auctioneers of New York, or perhaps Boyle's was just exceedingly cautious. The smell was more intense on this floor. The trolls were closer, but he could not see them wherever they were hiding.

A troll stepped silently from a room across the hall, ducking down to fit through the wide doorway. The guards had their backs to it and didn't see the massive beast approach. Trolls could move with great slyness when they needed to. It was difficult for them in the human world, but in his world trolls were often hired as spies. The guard at the stairs wrinkled his nose, the troll's smell so strong that even the human's weak olfactory sense could detect it. He lowered his face toward his underarm and sniffed, then looked around. He didn't even have time to register what he saw before the troll's massive hands were on him. The troll snapped the man's neck and left him on the floor. The guard at the door was dumbstruck. He had been trained to deal with men in ski masks not eight-foot tall monsters. The guard bravely pissed his pants before fainting.

Nuada waited. He was not afraid to step from the shadows, far from it. He simply wished to know the size of the opposing force. The previous attacks all involved two trolls. They had captured one at Blackwood's. If there were only the two trolls conducting all the raids, then this sizable troll was alone. Nuada wanted to be certain.

The troll spoke, its voice low and guttural. Two more trolls stepped from the room. They spoke together quietly, pointing to the auction room.

"The trolls are here," Nuada told the radio.

"What?" Red hissed in his ear.

"Three," Nuada continued. "On the auction floor. I will engage them."

He stepped from the shadows, swords drawn.


	9. Chapter 9: Witnessed

Fallen

Chapter 9: Witnessed

Inside the auction room Agents Cole and Sherman heard Nuada's transmission. They tried to listen for sounds of fighting in the hallway just outside the door, but the crowd was growing more excited and noisy as the price of a Monet continued to rise. A bidding rivalry between three guests had escalated into a full-blown bidding war, each side escalating ever higher. When the gavel finally smacked sharply on the lectern, the price was nearly four times the painting's estimated value. In the awed silence that followed, everyone could hear the primal roar from the hallway.

A troll fell through the door, a shining silver sword in its chest. The guests screamed in panic and ran in every direction simultaneously. Agent Cole pulled the gun from beneath his bespoke jacket and ran toward the door. Liz glanced back at Beth Hill, the woman looked shocked and frightened. She had witnessed three troll attacks, but it looked as if this was her first. Something was wrong, Liz thought. She could tell it was just an act. Liz didn't have time to consider why the woman would feign shock. A second troll jumped over its fallen brethren. It stood so tall it nearly hit the hanging Tiffany light fixtures. Its back bristled with hairs so thick they might be classified as appendages. The smell of it was overpowering, but Liz managed to pull her gun from her thigh holster and take aim at the beast.

Liz emptied a full magazine into the charging animal, but it didn't seem to make a dent in either its path or its body. The troll's leathery skin was so thick that it was as effective as a bulletproof vest in stopping her rounds. She reloaded and tried to aim for the beast's more tender face, but it moved so swiftly that it was on her before she could take aim. She was thrown across the room. Thankfully, a well-fed woman was there to break her fall. She rose and felt the anger rise with her. Her hands grew fiery extensions and she moved to intercept the troll before it could reach the table where the golden cylinder was waiting to be announced.

The third troll tumbled into the room, knocking the rows of chairs askew. Nuada quickly followed. He paused atop the dead troll to retrieve his sword, but his eyes never left his adversary. The blades spun in his hands, thick, viridescent blood was whipped from the blade by the force of the motion. When his hands came to rest, the blades were once again shining menacingly. Without a word he attacked, his body moving so quickly the humans present could not see precisely where he was; they could only see new wounds erupting on the troll's body indicating where the prince had laid his weapon seconds before.

Much as Liz wanted to know what was happening, she kept her eyes on the troll before her. She could not erupt as she wanted to. There were too many people in the room, more than just Nuada would suffer if she let go. She willed the fire toward the troll, and it obeyed. The troll was licked by the flames, its hair singed, adding a further noxious aroma to the trolls' already caustic smell. But the troll did not catch fire. Its sturdy skin was also fireproof it seemed. All Liz could hope to do was keep it away from the table until Nuada was done mincing the other troll.

The prince's troll called out. Liz could not understand it, but Nuada looked up. He stared hard through Liz's fire to see what the troll was talking about. In the confusion of the fantastic floor show, no one had seen the woman move away from the others. No one had noticed her inch closer to the valuables, their eyes focused on the fire and the flashing blades. No one saw her until the troll called out to his comrade. Nuada saw her now, as did the fire-resistant troll. Beth Hill stood behind the display table, her hand wrapped around Lot 617. She froze momentarily, staring back into Nuada's gold eyes.

"Liz!" Red bellowed as he ran up the stairs.

The shock of Red's call broke through the hold Nuada's gaze had on her. Beth Hill blinked furiously and did not look at Nuada again. She pulled the cylinder to her chest and stole from the room. She ran through the service door into the adjoining room. Nuada knew there was a fire escape that the woman would climb down and disappear into the dark city as effectively as she disappeared in the forest. She was lost to them, as was the cylinder. He turned back to his troll. It was weakened from blood loss, but still alive.

"_Who sent you?" _He demanded, speaking in his native tongue.

The troll remained silent. Their stubborn refusal to betray friends and business partners was also a key selling point in the hiring of trolls as spies. Even facing death, this troll would not reveal its boss's name. Nuada gave it a painless death. It was the least the soldier deserved for his troubles.

Red was at the door, jumping over the dead troll and barreling toward the final beast. It turned and ducked down, letting Red slam into its shoulder. Irresistible force met immovable object and irresistible force fell backwards from the impact, rubbing his head and cursing loudly. He pulled The Samaritan from its holster on his hip. The massive gun would have dwarfed most men, but it fit Hellboy perfectly.

Hellboy aimed the massive gun at the troll, but rather than take the shot he paused to relight his cigar. It looked breathtakingly cool, but it gave the troll time to react. The beast charged. Hellboy was knocked off his feet, dropping his weapon and his lighter. The troll ran through the BPRD agents, scattering them like bowling pins, jumped down the stairs and escaped just as it had the last time it met agents just days ago.

"It saw the woman take the cylinder," Nuada said. "Whoever sent them will track her down."

"Sent them?" Liz repeated, calming herself enough to quell her flames. Her necklace continued to glow white hot.

"Trolls could not coordinate this type of attack without help," Nuada reasoned. "They were in the building before the auction began."

"Bullcrap," Hellboy said. "The building was checked."

"And yet they were still here."

"We're going to have to get agents to guard Hill," Liz said. She was already marching toward the door. Despite the dire situation, Hellboy couldn't help but admire the view.

Agents moved in like a suited swarm. They guided the wounded, shell-shocked and stupefied guests away from the carnage. The deceased trolls were removed as quietly as possible and the pungent, thick blood was cleaned. Agents donned masks and were hauled out before the crowd, pretending to be arrested. A new form of terrorism, the guests were told, frightening the wealthy with masks and costumes. Though the agents were half the size of the trolls, the guests were more than willing to accept the explanation. It made so much more sense than what they had actually seen.

Media trucks with mobile satellite feeds raced to the main entrance just as the Squeaky Clean-Up truck pulled away. Not a hair was left for the police to find. No cell phone cameras managed to capture a picture of either the trolls or Hellboy. They had lost the cylinder, but so had the trolls. It was a pretty good night.

* * *

A/N: Short chapter.

The story becomes pretty much Nuada-centric from here on out.


	10. Chapter 10: Short Staffed

Fallen

Chapter 10: Short Staffed

The trolls were lying on the autopsy tables when Manning came in early the next morning. In his opinion it was far too early for that kind of stink. He didn't know why they were bothering; cause of death was obvious even to him. It was Death by Nuada, case closed. But Doctor Brass and his assistants were literally up to their elbows in troll guts, trying to pull free what might have been lungs or possibly a stomach. He held his breath against the stench and walked quickly past.

The reports from the night's events were on his desk when he arrived. He read through Sherman and Cole's first. Radio transmissions, trolls falling through doors, Hill taking the cylinder, they had witnessed it all. He would have liked Nuada's account, but the prince never filed a report. He still felt it beneath him to have to explain his actions to "mere humans" even if those mere humans were his bosses. He would ask Nuada later at the meeting. He noted Cole and Sherman's second-hand supposition that the trolls may be hired muscle.

The other reports were dull reading after that. All-night surveillance for nothing but clean- and cover-up duty.

He pushed away from his desk and walked the halls to the briefing room. Agents were already milling around the coffee and donuts when he arrived. He noted Nuada in his normal stance, leaning against the back wall.

"Good morning," Manning said, taking his seat. "Agent Nuada, I'd like your insights on the trolls from last night. I understand you think they were working for someone else?"

"I do."

Manning waited for more.

"Would you tell me why you think that?" He finally had to ask.

"Trolls have no interest in gold. The golden cylinders would be of little value to them. They would not have attacked unless ordered to do so."

"It is true, Mr. Manning," came a familiar voice from the doorway.

Nuala entered without pause. She nodded to her brother.

"Our people's war has come into your world, I'm afraid. I have discovered that Cian has engaged the trolls."

"Cian?" Manning asked.

"For what purpose?" Nuada asked, ignoring Manning and his ignorance.

Nuada remembered Cian from the days before the great war with humanity. He was a loud and contentious lord that preferred to frighten his subordinates into submission. Nuada often wondered if Cian was not part human. He was the last of the Elf lords to cede absolute power in favor of a united fae kingdom all those millennia ago; it took all Balor's wits to convince Cian that it was in his best interest to ally himself with the others against the humans. Nuada could still remember how Cian had opened his mouth to protest Balor's right to command The Golden Army. He could easily see Cian raising an army to declare himself the new king.

"To find the Staff of Brigid."

"Brigit?" Manning palmed his bald head.

"Brigid," Nuala corrected him delicately.

"Ancient Irish goddess of war," Abe added. "Her golden staff was said to give its holder absolute power and the right to rule all lands."

"But no one has seen it since before the great war with the humans," Nuala said. "I don't know where the trolls would seek it."

"They have been hunting these," Abe said and showed her the Boyle's catalogue. "Golden cylinders."

"My brother!" Nuala cried.

"What?" Abe looked as confused as his limited facial muscles would permit.

Nuada was beside them faster than anyone could have expected. He snatched the catalogue from Abe's hand, taking a hard look at the cylinder for the first time. It was just over an inch in diameter and almost seven inches long.

"How many cylinders are there?" He stared hard into Silver's eyes. It was the first time he had ever addressed the young agent directly and the man had a hard time speaking from fear. "How many?"

"Eight, sir," Silver gulped out a reply.

"Eight pieces of this length…" Nuada looked to his sister.

"This is a piece of the Staff," she said. "Where are these pieces?"

"The trolls took one, the other seven are in the hands of a woman named Beth Hill," Abe told her. "She's human."

"A human seeking the Staff of Brigid?" Nuala mulled over this strange news. "The Staff was meant to be in the hands of our people, the power it would give to a human would be devastating. Absolute power in the hands of a human would be catastrophic to all beings, human and fae alike."

"A holocaust for all the earth," Nuada muttered.

Manning didn't like the sound of that. He stood.

"I want a team at Hill's apartment. Get Lot 336 and take them to March's weird blue door. First priority is to recover these pieces of Brigit's staff, second take Hill into custody," Manning ordered.

"If March's house was an illusion of glamour, we should consider the possibility that Hill and her father are also agents of the fae," Abe said quickly.

"Sister, have you heard of any others seeking the Staff?"

"No," Nuala shook her head. "But few among our kind are as boastful as Cian."

"Agent Nuada, you are with Hellboy and his team to find Hill," Manning declared. "Agent Gibbs, your team is on March. Get going!"

His stomach churned. An indestructible army had been one issue, but now a staff that made its owner invincible was quite another. He remembered how difficult it was for the team to defeat Nuada. The idea of someone else just like him wielding ultimate power was terrifying. The only bright side was that if they failed and all humanity was wiped from the planet, he wouldn't have to explain any of this to his superiors in Washington.

* * *

A/N: Short chapter, I know.

Sorry for the English measurements, but I'm American and we're slow on picking up Metric even though it makes WAY more sense.


	11. Chapter 11: Detoured

Fallen

Chapter 11: Detoured

Two trucks were dispatched within ten minutes of Manning's order; their destination was Hill's apartment in the Bronx. Just over eleven hours had passed between the troll attack and Manning's orders. Beth Hill would have had ample time to gather her belongings and flee the city, but they had to hope that the woman was still there. If she wasn't, they had no clue where to find her. Silver was back at headquarters digging through the files he had copied from Hill's computer, hoping to find more information.

Nuada was silent in the back of the garbage truck. He did not think Hill would be at the apartment, but he went anyway. Manning's order meant nothing to him. He went because he wanted to learn more about Beth Hill. If she was an agent of his people, there might be clues in her home, clues that only he could see. But he considered that the information Agent Silver now sifted through had been taken from the woman's _work_. They had found no such coded information at her home.

He closed his eyes and connected his thoughts to Nuala's. He shared with her his mind, and she hers with him. They concurred on the matter. Beth Hill would not flee to her home, but to her business. Nuada was trapped in the truck, but Nuala could go ahead of him to Manhattan. Just one week ago he would have been loath to ask help from the sister who betrayed him, but he had no choice now. The princess knew this, she hoped it meant the bridge was being rebuilt between them. To this end, she agreed to help him.

While the Squeaky Clean-Up garbage truck was stuck in rush hour traffic over the Hudson River, Nuala used her innate abilities and was instantly in Manhattan. She was hidden in the shadowed alley across the street from Syracuse Industrial Design & Holdings Enterprises. She did not look like the typical Manhattan office worker. Her dress and sleeves were far too long, her hair was loose and unnaturally blond for a human, her eyes an eerie gold. They would never accept that she just came in for a chat looking as she did. She focused her mind and let the humans around her see her as one of them. She stepped from the alley and gracefully crossed the street.

As the truck lurched once again to a stop after moving two feet, Nuada rose and moved to the rear. Wordlessly he pressed the button for the door to open. The others rushed to stop it.

"What do you think you're doin', fairy?" Red shouted.

"We will be hours in this traffic," Nuada said. "I am going ahead."

He slid through the partially opened door and was gone. The rest of the team closed the door and had to wait. It would have been faster to walk to the Bronx, but Red was sure he would be grounded without TVs if he tried.

Nuada appeared inside Beth Hill's apartment. It was bright from the November sun shining in through her open blinds. There was no one there. The bed was made, the dress from the previous evening was hanging on the closet door, and her glittering clutch was on the bed. He picked it up and looked inside. There was the bidding card she had been given at the auction, but the cylinder was not there. He searched everywhere, even looking under the carpets for loose floorboards and in the ceiling crawl space. He had seen in human movies that they often found hiding places in such difficult to detect locations. He looked behind paintings and frames photographs for hidden safes and in her dresser drawers for false bottoms concealing hidden compartments, but there was nothing. This was not a place Beth Hill hid things; this was just where she lived. Work was the place Hill felt secure in hiding information and valuables.

"There is nothing here," he told the others over the radio. "I am going to Manhattan."

"Manhattan?" Red spat. "Do you know how long it'll take us to make it to Manhattan at this hour?"

"That is your problem, demon, not mine."

Nuada vanished from Hill's apartment and reappeared in the alley where Nuala had been some thirty minutes previously. He sensed glamour. His sister spoke to him through their bond and told him of her disguise. Much as he detested the idea of playing human, he followed suit. He needed information on the pieces of Brigid's Staff, his people's survival depended on the Staff remaining broken. Beth Hill was the only one who knew where seven of the eight pieces were. He could go and demand the information at lance point, but she defied trolls to steal the last piece; he doubted that such a woman would give information up to save her own life, unlike so many other humans.

Passing office workers rushing to make it to work on time took no notice of the handsome, well-dressed man leaving an alley and crossing to the building across the street.

Nuada caught up with his sister inside the office building. She was sitting on a sofa to one side of the receptionist's desk. The receptionist, an over-fed woman in a blue dress smiled broadly when she saw him. He could read the desire on her face, but he made no advances.

"May I help you?" The woman continued smiling.

"No, I am with her."

"Oh, too bad."

Nuada sat beside his sister and tried to avoid the looks the receptionist was giving him. He felt suddenly naked. Nuala looked at him, and could see the glamour aura around him. She focused hard to be able to see his disguise and let a small smile touch her lips. Her brother made a very attractive human. She was certain the humans in this building would deny him nothing, especially the female humans. Nuada sensed his sister's thoughts and glared at her. She buried her face in a magazine to avoid his eye. They sat there for nearly an hour. Nuada was restless, he wanted to search the building from top to bottom, dig through the files, tear up the flooring. Sitting was pointless.

"Ms. Moore?" The receptionist said. "Miss Hill is ready for you now. Take the stairs all the way up and she'll be waiting for you."

Nuada turned to his sister, amazed that she had talked her way into an appointment with their target. She just stood and walked to the stairs.

"Miss Moore, I presume," a voice called to them as they reached the third floor.

"Yes," Nuala said. "This is my brother and business partner."

"Mr. Moore," the woman shook their hands. "Beth Hill, please come in."

Hill looked them over and smiled slightly. Elves made the most attractive humans, any folklorist, art historian and modeling agency can attest to that. Tall and graceful, images of disguised elves filled countless portrait galleries and magazine pages. Nuada did not approve of his kind "passing" to make a name for themselves among the humans.

Still smiling, Hill motioned for the pair to sit. Nuada had a hard time of it. The hard-backed chair forced his swords into his back, but since Hill couldn't see them he would be hard pressed to explain his motion to remove them. He ignored the discomfort and looked Hill over. It was the first time he could afford a good view of her. She was indeed "hot" as Red said. Her light brown hair was long, but framed her face in layers. Her bangs cut sharply across her face, hanging low into her eyes, hardly practical but very stylish. She was dressed for business, slacks and a blouse, but he could tell that she was well-toned. Her body was as slim as he would have expected given the woman's running speed.

He looked away before she could notice him staring. Nuala looked at him with an odd expression. She purposely blocked her mind off from him at that moment. He wondered how she could do it so easily now for something so trivial, but a year ago when all of humanity was at risk she could not. Had the link between them faded with age or with her betrayal? Or had she simply grown stronger? This was not the time to wonder.

"Now, how may I help you?" Hill smiled again. She was looking at Nuada, eyeing him as he had just been eyeing her. Was it customary for human women to make such innuendoes upon meeting a handsome man?

"Our company requires renovations on its Newark headquarters," Nuala spoke for them. This was not entirely false. The BPRD building was looking considerably worse for having Liz and Red fighting so often. "And we are very interested in having as little of an environmental impact as possible."

"That is our specialty," Hill beamed like a proud parent. "Do you require any business-specific modifications? Or can our architects have free reign?"

"Fireproofing," Nuada said.

"Interesting," Hill sat back in her chair.

"Would that be an issue?" Nuala asked politely. Nuada wondered when his sister had become so adept at deceiving people.

"Not at all," Hill assured them. "We work with a company that creates fireproofing materials from recycled polystyrene. Styrofoam cups and the like saved from polluting landfills. That stuff will never biodegrade no matter how long it sits in the dirt." She sighed, "Worst stuff ever invented if you ask me."

"That sounds promising," Nuala agreed.

"What is your company's name?"

"Squeaky Clean-Up Waste Management," Nuala answered without pause. She was far too skilled at lying.

"I've seen your trucks around. What do they run on?"

"We use primarily cooking oil." Nuala had heard that this was the correct thing to say to someone who cared for the environment as much as this woman did. Truthfully, she did not know what the BPRD put inside their trucks to make them run.

"A company after my own heart," Hill's smile lingered on Nuada.

He just nodded.

Hill paused, looked down at the calendar on her desk and then back to Nuada.

"You may not have realized but this is a family-operated firm. I have a hand in all aspects of this company, from concept to completion," Hill said. "I won't ask my employees to do anything I wouldn't do myself."

"I see," Nuala said, though she could not imagine where Hill was taking this.

"I ask my employees to inspect our build sites, so I have to be willing to do so, too," Hill explained. "It's been a while since I've been out on site. So if you don't mind, I'd like to visit your facility, get a feel for what you need in your building and see what kind of space we're talking about."

"That would be fine," Nuala smiled.

"When would be most convenient?"

"Whatever suits you, Ms. Hill."

"I'm free until lunch," Hill checked the clock. It was nearing ten o'clock. "I think that's enough time to get to Newark and back."

She rose from her chair. The disguised elf royals did the same. This was not quite what Nuada had expected to happen when he arrived across the street. He expected sneaking and rummaging and perhaps knocking a human unconscious, but not to walk out with the suspect beside him. An attractive suspect … for a human.

* * *

A/N: Perhaps a little OOC for Nuada to pretend to be human, but, come on, the fate of his people's at stake here. Pride before the fall and all that jazz.


	12. Chapter 12: Keeping Up Appearances

Fallen

Chapter 12: Keeping Up Appearances

The Squeaky Clean-Up garbage trucks were double-parked a few yards away from the Sycamore Industrial building. This annoyed a number of cabbies and New Yorkers foolish enough to own cars; they blew their horns and made rude gestures to show their displeasure. The BPRD agents driving the two trucks ignored them. The driver of the lead truck was preparing to radio HQ when the passenger door opened and a suited man climbed aboard.

The driver didn't recognize him, but he wore the standard red belt-buckle of the BPRD. Nuada had willed the glamour to show the belt buckle moments before opening the door. It was the only way he could think to explain why he belonged on board the truck. He certainly couldn't load Beth Hill into the rear of the truck with the demon and Abraham the Ichthyo Sapien. How could he possibly explain them? What would Beth Hill think of them? Would she decline her offer to accompany him to the "build site"?

Nuala smiled as she sensed her brother's insecurity. She was sure he did not mean to worry about what Miss Hill would think, it simply happened. He cared what a human thought of his work partners, of _him_.

"Sir?" the driver asked.

"Back to headquarters," Nuada ordered.

Miss Hill climbed in beside him and Nuala beside her. The cab was so wide and the two women were so slim there was ample room for all four to sit comfortably, yet Hill sat with her hip pressed up against Nuada's, her hand touching his thigh. He was beginning to understand why humans were so numerous in the world; their females were so forward. It was off putting to a man so used to being alone. The touch was nerve-wracking, her smell overpowering. She smelled of natural oils, not the petro-chemical perfumes and products that most humans wore.

The driver radioed the second truck, started the engine and pulled away from the parked cars. The horns continues for some time, though, as the sizable trucks had stopped traffic for half a city block.

"What the hell is going on?" Red shouted into the radio. "Why are we moving again?"

The driver radioed back, "Orders, sir."

"Do all your employees refer to each other as 'sir'?" Hill asked.

"I like a strong chain of command." Nuada muttered. He should have loaded the women into one truck and himself in the other. This was sure to be an awkward ride. He appealed to Nuala for help, but she smiled and looked out the window at the passing city.

Traitor, he spat at her mentally.

Again, she smiled.

"Main entrance," Nuada commanded.

"Sir?" The driver glanced at him. The trucks never went to the main entrance. It was only for maintaining the illusion that they were a real waste management company.

* * *

"Main. Entrance."

"Yes, sir," the driver said.

The truck stopped and three apparent humans climbed down. The trucks continued on to the rear of the building where Red and Blue could safely enter the building unseen.

"My architects are going to be thrilled. This building is gorgeous," Hill beamed up at the enormous structure. The white marble face of the rounded building looked magnificent. She wondered about the torch burning across the driveway. She could not imagine its being useful, and assumed it symbolic.

She looked back at them, continuing her original thought aloud. "They are going to enjoy the challenge of living up to this kind of standard."

"I'm rather fond of it," Nuala said. Nuada said nothing, as this building was a prison to him.

They entered the building through massive doors. The large, echoing lobby took Beth Hill by surprise. She was expecting a receptionist and examples of their trucks and cleaning products, not the austere lobby that seemed to greet her begrudgingly. The polished black marble floor and high-reaching pillars looked like they belonged to a government monument or mausoleum, not a garbage service. The single guard stood behind the desk looking severe and unwelcoming.

"This place looks brand new," Hill said in a low voice, sure that her voice would echo if she spoke any louder.

"Not many people visit the main entrance," Nuala said. "The disrepair is in the other part of the building."

"Oh."

"Visitor," Nuada said to the guard. He didn't wait for a reply and walked up the stairs to the left of the guard's desk. He knew the guard would not question him while he wore the red belt-buckle, even if the guard didn't know him in this guise.

Nuada remembered this path from when he was brought to the BPRD in disgrace. He had been put in an isolated room for hours before they made the offer. He still suspected the time they took had been in debate of what to do with him; no doubt many had favored his execution. Glancing behind him at Beth Hill, he was slightly glad that offer had been made. He shook his head at that thought. Glad for a human, he would run himself through on his namesake before he admitted to that aloud.

He opened the door, the same door they had opened for him, and motioned for the others to enter.

"I will find the director," he said.

"Brother, I could go—"

He shut the door before Nuala could finish her _kind_ offer. His thoughts were already straying into unfamiliar and unwelcomed territory and attempting to drag his body along with them, he did not need to be left alone with Beth Hill for whatever length of time Nuala deemed sufficient. She had grown too like the humans, manipulative and deceitful. He could sense her designs through their bond.

He disappeared from the hallway and reappeared in the familiar hallways of Section 51. No one looked twice at him under the veil, he was just another agent in a suit. His face was still fearsome enough to make them step from his path as he walked purposefully through the corridors. He stopped before Manning's door and opened it without knocking.

"Do you mind?" Manning shouted. The man had been typing a report, apparently of some importance. He scowled across the office at the unrecognized agent, obviously someone new. Manning rose from behind his desk and pulled himself up to his full height. "It's bad enough I have to deal with monsters and irate elves all day, I do not have to put up with rude subordinates as well."

He poked at the young agent's chest. Nuada could easily have stopped him. The swords were still on his back, he could have beheaded his "boss" in a heartbeat. But he let him rage, curious to see what sort of man Manning was when he was confronted by an ordinary agent.

"I ought to have you transferred! What is your name, agent?" He punctuated his question with another poke to the prince's chest.

"Nuada."

"Nuada?" Manning repeated stupidly.

The prince let the glamour fade. Manning turned a foul shade of green as he realized he had just shouted and poked at a member of the elfish royal family. Moreover, he had poked and shouted at a lethal, easily offended and often invisible member of the elfish royal family. Nuada couldn't possibly blame Manning for treating him that way. He thought Nuada was just your average agent. Nuada certainly looked no different than any other human agent, a little more frightening, but still just human.

"Why are you pretending to be human?"

"To bring Beth Hill here. She is upstairs with Nuala, waiting for you," Nuada resumed his human appearance and walked out.

Manning hurried to catch up. Nuada was moving quickly toward the platform. Even as a human, agents scattered before him. Manning was impressed. He wondered if he could talk Nuada into glamouring himself human the next time Washington sent an inspection team. They would take one look at Nuada and run back to D.C. with glowing reviews. Maybe he could glamour Hellboy into looking human on assignments where there were a lot of witnesses. Did glamour fool cameras as well as it fooled human eyes? Manning realized too late that he was staring wide-eyed at Nuada while imagining the possibilities, a stupid grin pulling at his lips.

"What the hell is going on?" Red shouted.

"Red, this is not the time," Manning hedged. He put himself between Hellboy and the prince. He worried what Hellboy might say to human Nuada, not realizing what the man was.

"We sit in traffic in the back of a garbage truck for an hour and a half, only to turn around thanks to your order." Red lit his stub of a cigar. "What's the big idea, Manning?"

"I didn't give that order," Manning said.

"I did," Nuada looked at the demon.

"You? Who the hell are you?"

"I'm the one who brought Beth Hill in." Nuada turned and stepped on to the platform. Manning followed. Red did as well. He wanted to know who this newbie thought he was.

God's gift, judging by that smirk, Red thought. Damned pretty-boy agents, where do they all come from?

"Red, I'm not sure you should be coming up to the main floor with Hill here," Manning said.

Hellboy didn't budge. He scowled down at the new agent, sizing him up and trying to intimidate him with his sheer size. His height and bulk were not having the effect he was aiming for. The agent returned his gaze, amused. He hated that smirk on his smug face. Nuada smirked like that. The platform began moving, hauling all three silently up the top level.

"Where is she?" Manning asked when the platform had stopped in the lobby.

Nuada did not reply with words. Instead he walked away, leaving the others to follow him. They did, Hellboy grudgingly. They passed the guard and found Nuada waiting by a door to one of the conference rooms. There was a square one-way mirror in the door which allowed them to see into the conference room without the occupants realizing they were being watched. Beth Hill sat across the polished table from an attractive blond woman in a business suit. Manning would not have recognized her as Nuala if her brother hadn't said she was in the room with Hill. The women were conversing casually, Beth Hill leaning back in her chair and gesturing occasionally. The blond was more reserved, hands folded in her lap, but she smiled frequently. Manning knew that kind of conversation, his wife often had it with her friends. It was girl talk. He was certain the topic would be a man, probably Nuada if he could go by the slight blush on Nuala's cheeks.

"Beth Hill," Red muttered. "And who's the babe?"

"You will not refer to my sister in that way, demon!" Nuada had his sword at Hellboy's throat.

It was the strangest thing Hellboy had experience lately. He saw the human agent with fierce, angry eyes, holding a pen to his throat. Red blinked and, as his eyes shut and he relied only on his sense of touch, he felt the blade. He heard the words and knew, despite what his eyes told him, that it was the prince.

"Fairy, you better step back."

* * *

A/N: Oooh. What ever will happen next?

Fair warning, my chapter buffer is quickly diminishing. I'm posting chapters with more frequency than I'm writing them. So, be prepared to have a sudden drop in posts somewhere along the line. Sorry, that's the way the spark's been zapping me.


	13. Chapter 13: Rejected

Fallen

Chapter 13: Rejected

Manning could not see through the fae glamour Nuada had surrounding him. He saw a human agent holding a pen to Hellboy's neck. It was a glinted rather menacingly for a pen, but it was still just a tool for dispensing ink. If he had not known the agent was Nuada in disguise, he would have been laughing at the man for threatening a demon with a writing utensil. However, he knew the weapons Nuada carried on his person, and he could guess that the pen was in reality something considerably more sharp and deadly than your garden-variety ballpoint.

"Nuada, perhaps we had all better calm down," Manning said. "We need clear heads to talk to Ms. Hill."

Miss Hill, he thought, the reason for this disguise. What would she make of the scene if the door were to open? Why should he care what a human thought of him? He did not, he assured himself obstinately; the continued existence of his people relied on what that woman knew. He could not afford to frighten her with his seemingly strange behavior. Nuada returned his sword to its sheath. He glared at Hellboy.

"Good," Manning breathed again. "What does Hill know?"

"I did not ask. She thinks we are engaging her company's services."

"Then we should go introduce ourselves," Red moved toward the door.

"Wait!" Manning bodily blocked Hellboy from getting any nearer the door. "We cannot frighten this woman."

"What? She's already seen trolls? What am I after that?" Red's smile became angelic.

"We need her to like us. And you can be a bit… well…."

"What?"

"Abrasive." Nuada said.

"Shut it, fairy."

"Thank you for making my point, demon."

"You can wait outside," Manning said.

"Nuh-uh, I'm going in," Red insisted.

Manning groaned. He already had two children at home, he really did not need another at work.

"Let him," Nuada said. "I will only hide him from her sight."

"You can't do that."

"Do you not see my appearance, demon?"

"She'll hear me."

Nuada just shook his human head, that irritating smirk looking as obnoxious on his human face as it did on his elf one. Red wanted dearly to smack that self-satisfied grin off him.

"Fine. Whatever." He grumbled petulantly.

Nuada slapped Red hard on the shoulder. Manning was suddenly standing next to Nuada and no one else. Red was gone.

"What the hell was that for?" Red he shoved Nuada back.

Manning saw Nuada move as if he had been pushed and then give an irritated stare at nothing.

"It was necessary to touch you for the veil to cover you, demon."

"Uh, Nuada," Manning said cautiously. "Where is Hellboy?"

"Right where you left me, Manning," Hellboy poked at the man's shoulder and laughed as the man jumped toward the ceiling in surprise. "Oh, this could be fun."

"Demon, the point of shielding you from Hill's eyes was to keep her from being frightened," Nuada spoke to him as if he were a child, a simple-minded child. "You cannot torment Manning, it would only worry the woman."

"You're no fun, you know that?"

"And you are an infant."

Manning watched Nuada carry on an argument with the empty hallway, and it worried him. He knew Hellboy was there, but he was growing understandably concerned about what Red might be doing now that he was essentially invisible. He would have liked to send Hellboy away, but the demon wouldn't go and even if he did give the order. Manning sighed, the deep, long-suffering sigh of a man who really should be used to this. He had higher priorities than Hellboy's tomfooleries. He opened the door and stepped in.

"Miss Hill, this is the director of Squeaky Clean-Up, Mr. Thomas Manning," Nuala made his introduction.

Beth Hill stood and shook Manning's hand, her eyes fixed on his with more focus than was really called for.

"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Manning," she said. "I don't have much time here. I have to be back in the city for a lunch appointment."

"Not a problem, this shouldn't take long," he smiled. This was the first time he had seen Beth Hill in person. The surveillance shots didn't do her justice. She was quite beautiful; he was having a hard time not staring. Nuada found this irritating. It was made worse by Hellboy, who Nuada could still see and hear through the glamour. The demon stood to one side of Manning's head making kissing noises.

"Why don't you just ask her out, and be done with it, Manning?" Red mocked him.

"I'm surprised you would want to hire my company, your building can't be more than five years old," Hill leaned back in her chair. Her eyes flickered around the room, passing over Hellboy. The room brought a smile to her face.

"Was she just looking at me?" Red asked, not that anyone would answer.

"It's twenty-five years old, at least," Manning corrected her. "You've only seen one part of the complex. There's much more, which has not been as well maintained. We have a few employees that are rather hard on equipment." He let out a little yelp and his hand flew to his head.

"I'd like to see you handle Liz's outburst," Red muttered and plucked another hair from Manning's head.

"I can imagine." Hill smiled.

"No, you can't." Manning paused considering how best to broach the subject of trolls, golden cylinders and elves. He considered giving her the VIP tour, but he could just as easily have Nuada de-glamour Hellboy. If nothing else, it would keep the beast from pulling out any more of his hair.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Manning, but I'm certain we've met before," Hill said suddenly.

"I don't think so."

"Yes. I saw you outside the Blackwood auction house a few days ago. The night of the gas leak, you were standing out front with your garbage trucks," Hill said. "Come to think of it, I saw them just the other night not far from Boyle's auction house."

"What a coincidence," Manning smiled weakly.

"I thought it odd that your employees all wore suits and ties, like government agents."

"Busted," Red poked at Manning.

"There is something going on here, Mr. Manning. I want to know what it is."

Manning sighed in relief. This made it so much easier.

"We are not a waste management company, Miss Hill," he said. "We are a government organization that exists to fight the things that cannot be fought by other, more ordinary agencies."

"You witnessed three separate attacks by some of these creatures, Miss Hill," Nuada looked into her eyes. "You know they were not the result of a gas leak."

"Who are you?"

Nuada let the veil fall. He stood before her as a prince, a pale and dangerous creature from the world of stories her father told her. She knew him from Boyle's, had looked into his eye in the wrecked auction room. Her eyes grew wide and she looked to his sister. Nuala, too, sat across from her as her true self. Her suit gone replaced by flowing blue silks, she looked every inch the elf princess. Beth Hill stood up.

"Miss Hill, we need your help," Manning said.

"No, this is impossible," she moved quickly to the door. So quickly Red could not move out of her way. He may not have been visible, but he was still solid. She walked into him and fell backwards. Nuada, fast as thought, was there to catch her.

"Not impossible," Nuada told her. He looked to Hellboy, who was now fully visible.

"Hey," Red waved his stone hand.

"What are you going to turn into?" Hill asked Manning. "They changed shape and he went invisible. What do you do?"

"I order them around," Manning joked lamely. Red and Nuada both glared at him.

"Miss Hill," Manning cleared his throat. "We need your help. We need information."

Nuada lowered Beth back into her seat. He let his hands linger on her shoulders. She ignored him and his hands and kept her eyes fixed on Manning, the only constant in the room.

"You bought a gold cylinder at an antique shop in New Haven two months ago." Manning didn't wait for her to acknowledge that his information was correct.

"You stole another last night from Boyle's."

She paled at this.

"We aren't going to arrest you, Miss Hill. We need to know where the cylinders are. They are very important to us, to the security of this country." That wasn't entirely accurate, but having the weight of all humanity's survival on her shoulders might be a bit much for the poor woman.

Hill shook her head. "No. I don't have them. I sent them… away. I have to go!"

"Miss Hill," Nuada spoke from behind her. "The troll witnessed you taking the cylinder just as we did. It will find you as we did. It will not accept your excuses."

"I don't have it. Leave me alone!" She shook him off her shoulders angrily. He obeyed her wishes, and stepped back. It felt like she had struck out at him, though her hands remained clenched together in her lap.

"At least let us protect you," Manning suggested. "The troll will be back."

"No, thank you. I can't help you and I don't want your help," Hill was on her feet again. "Please take me back to my office."

"Ok," Manning sighed.

That did not go well.


	14. Chapter 14: On Guard

Fallen

Chapter 14: On Guard

The clouds were rolling in, blotting out the sun and bringing the temperature down to what one would expect for early November. It looked like rain, another given for the time of year. Beth Hill was shaking. She was sitting in the comfortably warm back seat of the black government sedan, but she was still shaking. She stared out the window, though the agent in the front passenger seat could tell that she was not truly seeing anything that passed. Her lips moved as if she was whispering to herself and she punctuated the occasional thought with a sharp shake of her head. She looked haunted, worried.

They were driving east over the Hackensack River. It was already late enough in the morning that the traffic was at its usual irritatingly slow pace instead of the parking lot it became every weekday between the hours of eight and ten AM. They would be back in Manhattan soon enough, where Beth Hill would be left to fend for herself. Manning had escorted Hill to the government sedan and helped her into the backseat. He offered her a guard for the second time, and again she refused.

Manning may have ordered a team to follow her, but Nuada did not know. He had slid unobserved into the car disguised by a veil of glamour. He appeared to be just another BPRD agent. He was careful to will the glamour to give him a different appearance. Beth had gazed at him too intently last time, she would know him if he did not alter his looks. He now sat in the front seat and watched her through the rear view mirror. He could not allow Beth to go unguarded. She could not possibly realize the danger she had brought on herself in collecting the pieces of Brigid's Staff. She had to have been hired by an elf seeking its power, as no human history referring to it had survived the ancient war. And it was obvious that her employer had not seen fit to fully inform her of the possible repercussions of her actions.

The driver brought the car to a stop in front of her office. Nuada opened the car door for her. She did not thank him or even look at him. She hurried back into her safe house. Nuada stood on the street watching her through the glass front of the building.

"You getting in, sir?" the driver asked.

"No."

He closed the car door and let the man drive away.

Nuada considered his options. He could not fool her with the same ruse twice. Nor could he sit in the office unnoticed, even disguised as a human they would notice him. That plump receptionist would certainly notice him. He could veil himself to be invisible to human eyes and ears as he had with Red in the conference room, but it would take far more effort than if he were to feign humanity. Should an attack come, the drain of veiling himself for so long from so many might leave him weakened in a fight. The building had a fire escape, but it was not situated near Beth's office. He needed to be able to see her, to see her office.

He glanced across the street to a shop on the ground floor with seats at the front windows. From one of those window seats he could see Beth's office and the entrance of the building should she leave. It was his best option.

He crossed the street, entered and sat at a window table. There were enough customers waiting to order that the blue-haired girl making sandwiches behind the counter didn't notice him. Nuada unfolded the newspaper that was on the table, giving the illusion that he was reading it, but really he watched the top story of the building across the road.

Beth was in her office moments after returning to the building. From his table, Nuada could see her at her desk. She went straight to work as if nothing had happened, taking phone calls and meeting her employees. Her recovery time after the troll attacks and after this incident was extraordinary, Nuada thought. He had been nearly certain she would cancel her appointments and flee. This woman surprised him at each encounter.

Curriers and clients entered the building. Nuada watched each of them, looking for signs of glamour. But they were all just humans doing their jobs. A man, presumably a client, entered; minutes later he was walking out with Beth. Her lunch appointment. The pair crossed the road and entered the shop where Nuada had set up his surveillance.

Beth looked around for a seat. Her eyes settled momentarily on his, but she made no indication that she recognized or knew him nor did she acknowledge him. It was just a passing glance, the kind she would have given to any reasonably attractive man, he told himself. She would not know him in this new disguise. She tapped her companion's arm and motioned to the table near Nuada. She left him in line and went to sit down at the table. She sat with her back to Nuada, her long hair falling over the back of the rickety wooden chair. He was near enough that he could stretch out his arm and brush the silken tresses, run his human fingers through the soft gentle curls that punctuated her hair. He tucked his arms against his chest at the thought, rather embarrassed that he had to go to such measures to control himself. Agonizing minutes passed before the man came with their food.

Feasts were common methods of conducting negotiations among his people. The better the wine and the more lavish the banquet, the more pliable the guests would likely become. So the idea of eating lunch with a business partner was not so unnatural to Nuada. But to do so in such a crowded little shop as this seemed impossible. It would be far too difficult to lay out detailed business plans here amid the lunch rush with men and women in suits talking loudly to one another or on their mobile phones, bumping against the chairs and spilling their drinks on the floor.

Nuada soon got his answer. The man reached across the table and touched Beth's hand. This was a gentle touch, a lover's touch. Beth did not pull away. This appointment was not a business one, Nuada realized, and his stomach turned sour. He hated this man. This was not his all-encompassing hatred of humanity. This was a focused hate. He loathed this one particular human man. He wanted to unsheathe his sword and bring this one man to his knees in pain. He wanted this specific human to suffer.

Nuada blinked and looked back at his newspaper. The man was beginning to shift uncomfortably under Nuada's coldly calculating eyes. They may have appeared a warm blue to the human man, but they still held all the prince's intense emotions. If he continues his dark stares, the man would draw Beth's attention to him. Not an entirely unpleasant thought, but it was not what needed to be done now.

Beth and the man, Mark was his name, ate quickly and then talked for the rest of their lunch hour. In that time, he noted Beth made not one mention of auctions, antiques, the cylinders, the attacks or even her visit to the BPRD. If she was going to confide in anyone, surely it would be this man, her lover. But she kept her conversation light and superficial. At times she seemed rather patronizing toward Mark, making Nuada smirk.

As Nuada pretended to read an article about human politics, he continued to listen.

"Are we still on for the weekend?" Mark smiled.

"Oh, I have to cancel. I need to go see my dad. He's not been feeling well," Beth said without apology.

"Yeah, the old man," Mark frowned. "I thought you went to see him just the other day."

"He's quite old, Mark," she reminded him curtly.

"When will I get to meet him?"

"I don't think he's up to meeting anyone right now." She said this with such finality that Mark didn't question her.

Nuada wished he could see her face as she spoke to this man, see if she looked at Mark as she had human-Nuada. He remembered how she had smiled and held his eye even when she was addressing Nuala. He recalled how she had slid in so close to him in the cab of the truck; inching ever closer during the drive to Newark despite their already being too close for his comfort. He suspected that if the drive had been much longer, she would have simply climbed into his lap. If she were spoken for by this man, promised to him, she would not have behaved in such a way toward Nuada. He could only assume this man did not hold her heart. This pleased him greatly.

They kissed lightly, and parted ways after leaving the shop. Beth returned to her office. Mark walked down the street. Nuada's smile darkened as he considered following him. He would meet Mark in a filthy alley and introduce the unworthy creature to his namesake. He could be back at this very table in just a few minutes. The glamour would cover any blood.

He shook his head and let the thought be enough.

* * *

A/N: Nuada's got a new obsession. :)

And I discovered that FF net's spell check is dumb. It says Hackensack isn't a real word. Silly, spell check.


	15. Chapter 15: Shadowed

Fallen

Chapter 15: Shadowed

Hours later, Nuada was still smiling in the sandwich shop. It was a dark, vindictive and satisfied smile. He was imagining the tortures he could visit upon Mark the Undeserving, drawing upon all his centuries of training. Nuada had lived through humanity's Dark Ages, witness and even experienced some of the more ingenious methods of torture. Humans, for all their greed, were nothing if not imaginative. In his old home underground, he still kept some of their clever devices. The possibilities were endless.

The cashier, busboy and sandwich maker were all the same person, a small young woman with a nose ring and blue hair. And while the busy and important office workers eyed her suspiciously, contemplating her level of hygiene, she was eyeing Nuada. He had been sitting at the same table since the lunch rush, the newspaper in front of him opened to the same page for the last four hours. She had watched him for half her shift and she never saw his eyes glance at the paper. Instead he looked out the window. She wondered if maybe he had just been laid off. He wouldn't be the first suited man afraid to go home with that news.

In between orders and bussing, she sketched him. She was an art student, and enjoyed the practice live models gave her. She wanted him to change positions, but he was locked like a statue looking skyward. His profile was quite attractive, but she knew she could not get away with standing there long enough to draw him in detail. At four o'clock her shift ended. She took her tips and a sandwich and went outside. It was already dark, though the sun had not yet set; the skyscrapers and clouds collaborated to bring further gloom to the already gray city.

She looked back at the man through the window. She could see him in the light of the shop, could finally stare without fear of what he would say. And from the look of his eyes, she knew he would have no compunction about telling her off. Her sculpting class wasn't for another hour and the subway would bring her there in fifteen minutes. She had time. She sat on the curb across the street and sketched the man she had been watching all afternoon. He was looking up still and did not seem to notice her staring at him, drawing him.

She looked up from her sketchbook. The man was outside now, walking from the shop. He had the fluid movements of a cat, which was something she had not expected of him. He crossed the street and passed behind her. She had thirty minutes until class, fifteen to catch the subway. She stood and walked quickly after him.

He did not have to weave through the pedestrian traffic as everyone else did. People stepped aside to make room for him. No one so much as brushed up against his sleeves. She could understand why. The intensity of his gaze was startling, the dark smile frightening. He looked like a man capable of committing murder, yet she was following him. If he asked, she would have followed him into a deserted alley. As it was she followed him down the subway steps, and onto the platform, situating herself as close as she dared so she could catch his smell. In the shop all she could smell was the food, but she hoped to catch a whiff of _him_.

The train pulled up; the tile-lined tunnel amplifying the screeching of the brakes to deafening levels. He did not have to shove his way onto the train. She traveled in his wake, stepping aboard easily for the first time since she moved to the city. She expected him to sit, no one would have denied him a seat, but he stood. He held the metal pole and stared intently through the window into the next compartment. She slid in behind him, close as she dared and breathed him in. After so many hours in the shop, she was surprised that the smells of hummus or salami didn't cling to him as it always did to her. He had a heady aroma unlike anything at the shop, something like burnt cinnamon but more intense and elusive. She shut her eyes, breathed him in and imagined what such a man might taste like. She sat, eyes closed, thoughts lustful, through uncounted stops, uncounted minutes.

Suddenly the smell was gone, replaced by the acrid smell of regular human body odor and overpriced colognes. She looked up and saw him on the other side of the closing doors. She wanted to follow him, but the train was already moving. And she realized she didn't know what train she was on or what time it was. When she finally caught the train heading in the opposite direction, she knew she would be ten minutes late for class. But when she got there she would be fully prepared to sculpt a man to rival any of the Renaissance's most praised.

Nuada, fully aware of his admirer, left the train. He could not be angry with the girl; he was doing as she was, following and admiring. He shadowed Beth up the steps and into the cold evening air. They were in the Bronx now, a block from her apartment. She glanced around as she walked, growing more cautious as she left the safety of the crowd. Nuada had to be more careful, too, now that he could not disappear among their numbers. He kept a respectful distance, stopping behind a parked car as Beth looked around. Satisfied that she was alone, she entered the building.

Nuada appeared on the fire escape balcony outside Beth's apartment. He looked in at her living room as she entered. She shut the door quickly behind her and relocked her door. Through the glass he could hear each lock click securely closed, seven in all, followed by a safety chain. As fortified as it was, that door could not stop a troll, especially not a troll being employed and aided by an elf. He had entered her apartment with minimal effort.

He had been in that room hours ago, before meeting her, before sitting beside her in the BPRD truck, before she touched his thigh, before he considered torturing her boyfriend. He looked at the woman as she slumped on the sofa, away from work and company she looked worried again. His hand reached out and touched the glass. He wanted to be in that room with her. Nuada didn't understand how his mind could have been so altered in so short a time.

The rain that had been threatening since that morning finally came down. Thunder shook his small fire escape. Nuada did not like it, and not just because he was drenched and standing on a conductive metal frame. The thunderclaps were easily loud enough to mask the noises of approaching threats. Trolls could be shouting on the streets below and he would not have been able to hear them. The rain pulled the air and any strange or strong odors down with it, he would not have them as a warning. He would just have to remain vigilant. He stole one last look at Beth crumpled on her sofa and disappeared to the roof.

Nuada discarded his façade. It took too much effort to maintain the illusion of a rain-soaked human. He needed all his concentration to keep watch. He paced the edge of the roof like a jungle cat in the cage of a zoo. He watched the shadows and the alleys, the passing umbrellas and taxis. They would come, he was sure of it. And he was sure they would come tonight.

* * *

A/N: I admit to never setting foot on the NYC subway system. From what I can gather off the internet, it is possible to travel directly from Manhattan to the Bronx. However, if it's not, I apologize.

I didn't write it, but Nuada's idea of disguising himself from Beth was to make himself _more_ attractive. (He so totally would.)

I'll try to post another chapter tomorrow, but I'm heading to Dragon*Con tomorrow morning and won't be back at my computer until Monday evening. So, my apologies, but this may be the last post for the better part of a week. Reread, review, enjoy. :)


	16. Chapter 16: Overwhelmed

Fallen

Chapter 16: Overwhelmed

Nuada returned to the fire escape outside Beth's apartment. He was distressed to see the curtains drawn. The fire escape window faced a brick wall and with no peeping neighbors across the alley, he had been confident she would leave her curtains open. Now he was blind to whatever may be happening inside the apartment. The trolls were sure to attack from the interior door. The only other entrance was via his fire escape, and their muscular bulk would have broken even the sturdiest of the ladder rungs. They could approach from the street or sewer, but either way they would have to enter the building through the one and only front door. This was good news for Nuada, but it still worried him not to be able to see what was happening inside.

Much as he wanted to ensure Beth's safety, he could not bring himself to enter her apartment invisibly; it seemed a violation. He returned to the roof where he could look down at the main entrance and watch the street for approaching trolls.

Hours seemed to pass. The number of cars and pedestrians dwindled. The rain, unfortunately, did not. It continued at a steady rate, washing over Nuada, soaking him through. He was growing quite uncomfortable, but refused to leave his vigil. The thunder continued to distort his hearing. Three times he had rushed to the fire escape thinking he heard a scream hidden in the rumble. He still thought he heard crashing and breaking noises, but knew it to be just the thunder. No one, human or troll, had entered the building since he had been keeping watch. There could be no one to attack Beth.

While looking down at the rain-washed street, confident in Beth's safety, he unmistakably heard glass break and a woman scream. His golden blood ceased to flow momentarily. He looked down to Beth's fire escape. It was littered with glass shards. He was there instantly, standing atop the broken window fragments.

He could smell them inside. Trolls.

He used the butt of his lance to break the rest of the window and entered. He was dripping rainwater on her carpet, but that was the least of the woman's problems. There were two trolls, huge and hulking, in the small living room. The massive beast that had twice escaped capture stood before Beth's bedroom door. The other stood behind the sofa. There was no sign of Beth.

Nuada had lost the ability to surprise them after making so much noise breaking the glass. But he still had the advantage with his agility and speed. With a thought his lance extended and he launched himself at the smaller troll. It was no contest. The lance allowed Nuada a greater reach. He could slice the leather skin of the troll with the elven point without ever getting close enough for the troll to land a single blow to his royal body. Nuada barely felt the displaced air on his face from most of the punches they were so far from their mark. The beast was quickly weakened by blood loss and growing irrational with rage; it charged at the prince, flinging itself at him and piercing its own heart on the silver lancehead.

The prince time enough to pull his weapon free before the enormous troll spoke, but not to Nuada. Two more trolls entered from the hallway. They had been keeping guard against the prince or someone like him. He readied his mind and body for their twin attacks. The techniques he had used on the lone troll would not work on the pair of them. He kept moving, trying to prevent one of them from stepping into his blind spot. Centuries of practice and years of learning Mr. Wink's tricks were on his side. These trolls were barely over one hundred years old, still green by troll standards. He sliced at them in turn, blocking attempted attacks. It would be challenge enough for any elf warrior, but it was made more difficult by the prince's concern for Beth. He continued to scan what he could see of the apartment for the woman. The trolls took advantage of his moments of distraction to strike at him and knock him off his feet.

When Beth screamed, Nuada turned. One of the trolls picked him up and threw him across the apartment into the kitchen. He cut his arm on his own lance as he fell, but rose without a word. The trolls were laughing, pleased with themselves. Nuada set about wiping the smiles from their faces. He sapped their energy from them one cut at a time. Beth's ivory Berber carpet was quickly turning a rancid shade of green from all the troll blood seeping into it.

The lead troll shouted to his young comrades. Nuada glanced over and saw it hauling Beth from the bedroom. She was digging her nails into its skin, but it was having no impact on the beast. She looked over to him.

"Mr. Moore, behind you!"

Nuada spun his lance around and impaled the troll without a glance behind. It toppled backwards, unsheathing the silver lance as it fell and landing with a crashing thud atop Beth's coffee table, shattering the glass top and splintering the solid oak legs. Before the other smaller troll could react, Nuada had stabbed it, too, through the heart. It fell. The massive lead troll did not call out this time; it was alone again, all its reinforcements had fallen.

Nuada stared hard into the eyes of the remaining troll. He weighed the attack strategies available to him. The troll would not harm Beth, but it would not be above using her as a shield. Nuada would not allow himself to harm her. This left nearly all physical assaults out. He drew a sword from behind his back. A few moments of indecision followed before he moved sharply, feigning an attack to the right. The troll turned to meet him, and left Beth clear. Nuada hurled his sword at the massive troll. The sword had been made by Nuada's own hands; it was perfectly balanced and turned as it flew across the living room. Nuada's aim never failed and the hardened edge of the blade spun around and made contact with the troll. The sharpened blade carved into its sensitive face. It bellowed in pain and let both hands fly to its face in shock.

Free of the trolls grip, Beth ran to the window and climbed onto the fire escape. Nuada readied his lance to attack again. The troll was injured and half blind, but still made an impressive opponent. Its skin was nearly impervious to Nuada's weapon. Attacks that should have left the troll in ribbons barely scratched it. The majority of his blows left no damage at all. Nuada was left with nothing to do but defend himself and try once again to land a blow to the troll's only weak area – its face.

Sirens rang out on the streets below. The prince could hear them grow louder until they stopped under the open window. The neighbors had called the police, Nuada assumed. The troll also heard the sirens. It looked with its remaining eye to the window where Beth had escaped. It would not capture her tonight. The beast took one final shot at the prince before charging the door. Nuada did not bother chasing it.

He turned to the window and climbed out.

Beth was on the ladder, ready to climb down if the wrong face came through the window; adrenaline giving her the strength to cling to the slippery metal bars with bare hands and feet. Her whole body was shaking from the effort and the cold. She looked down to see the troll run down the street, followed by shouts and gunshots.

The prince held out his hand to help her climb back up. She took it gladly and did not let go even when she was back on the relatively stable ground of the fire escape.

"Thank you," she said and kissed him.

Nuada was too shocked to respond appropriately, but that didn't seem to bother her.

She pulled away. He tried to look into her eyes, but found their honeyed depths veiled by her hair. He wiped her low bangs, heavy with rain, away so that he could look more deeply into her eyes. His hand left a white trail on her skin. This was not normal, for either human or elf.

He rubbed a finger over her revealed eyebrow. The light brown hairs smeared under his touch. His confusion folded into his brow. He pulled her with him into the light.

He examined her more intently now, not amorously but accurately. Her warm alabaster skin was running down her face in the rain, leaving a colorless white in its place. A golden eye shadow that extended all the way around her outer eye replaced the stylish plum shadow she wore on her eyelids. Nuada pulled his palm across her face, clearing away her make up. His hand, callused from years of working with weapons, felt the soft skin and the imperfections that marred it.

He felt the scar that bisected her cheek. He put his finger to it, tracing its path across the bridge of her nose and onto the other cheek. The Cruthú de Ard, the mark of elf royalty.

* * *

A/N: Raise your hand if you saw that coming!

If you have Google, then you know as much Gaelic as I do.

Dragon*Con was AWESOME! If you're in America this time next year (First weekend of September for those of you not reading this as I post it), go to Atlanta, Georgia and check it out! :)


	17. Chapter 17: Scarred Beauty

Fallen

Chapter 17: Scarred Beauty

The cold rain washed away the remnants of Beth Hill's human disguise. Not even the sturdy putty she used to fill her royal scars could hold up to the deluge. Even if it could, Nuada would not let it. He rubbed at the scars with gently determined fingers, knowing from his own face where they ought to be. He found each vertical mark on her brow, chin and cheek. His hands traveled gently up to her hairline, higher than normal for a human female. Beth's trendy human haircut hid her raised hairline as effectively as it hid her lack of eyebrows. Nuada could feel the concentric circular lines at the edge of her forehead, the swirling birthmarks that only some of his people were born with. He could also feel the elongated points of her ears.

She stepped back from him and put her hands to her white face. He thought she was crying, the rain washing away her tears as it had her makeup. Beth looked up again, her eyes as golden as his own. The honey colored contact lenses fell through the metal grate, forgotten, to the sidewalk below. She smiled, shy despite all her previous advances. Beth Hill the human was bold and flirtatious. Beth Hill the elf was afraid of what Nuada would think.

He did not leave her in doubt for long. He pulled her to him and kissed her. Her lips seemed somehow softer now she had not feigning humanity, her scent more earthly. His hands traveled back to her face and into her hair; saturated as it was it was as silken as he had imagined it would be. They had both been human then, or pretending to be. It had been one of the few things keeping the prince from accepting her advances.

He broke from her mouth, breathing harder now than when he had been fighting the trolls. He was fighting something more terrible than those four enormous beasts. He was fighting _himself_, years of solitary exile and repression of his base needs.

"You called me Mr. Moore," he spoke slowly. He was trying to distract himself. "You saw through my disguises."

"Yes."

He considered what that meant as he held her close to his body. She had seen Nuala as she truly was when they first spoke in her office. She knew he was lying to her, yet she came with him to the BPRD office. She saw through the cloak of invisibility he had placed on the demon and heard everything the oaf had said. She had seen him for himself in the shop. She had known he was watching her, protecting her. Had she realized he was doing more than just acting as her guardian?

"The police will be here in a minute," she said. It was an unwelcomed return to the reality of the situation. Three trolls were dead in her apartment, the door broken and furniture demolished. He should have called the BPRD to clean it up, but he had been caught up in her kiss. Now it was too late.

"I'll hide everything until your friends can come," she said and pushed away from him.

She climbed back into the apartment, avoiding the broken glass. She stepped around the troll-soiled patches of carpet, though she was leaving a trail of soggy carpet as she traversed the carnage. Nuada could hear the human's running clumsily up the stairs. They would arrive, guns drawn, in seconds. He said nothing, letting Beth concentrate. She closed her eyes, seeing in her mind the apartment as it should be, and as she did the veil fell upon it. Nuada could see the aura of the glamour.

Beth opened her eyes as the police began pounding on what they thought was a door. In truth the door had been torn from its hinges and lay under their feet. Beth went to them and mimed opening the door. The humans probably did not even see that the woman was soaking wet.

"Pardon me, Ma'am," an officer said. "We've had complains of fighting."

"I'm sorry, I fell asleep with the TV on. Kung fu movies… I love 'em!" She smiled. It was so winning a smile, they could not fault her.

"Well, just keep it down," the officer smiled back, clearly smitten. She made the motion of closing the door; it was enough to fool the police under the twin spells of glamour and an attractive woman.

Nuada turned his radio on. He was still wearing it from that morning when he had ridden in the garbage truck with Hellboy and his team. As soon as the electricity began to flow to the device, his earpiece came alive.

"—try again, sir. Agent Nuada, please respond," a voice called. It was hoarse from speaking. No doubt they had been trying to reach him since he disappeared into the sedan that morning. At least twelve hours had passed since Beth had declined their offer and left.

"I am here."

"Sir! Sir! I have him." The voice shouted away from the microphone.

Manning took hold of Nuada's ear. "Agent Nuada, where are you?"

"With Beth Hill in her apartment. The trolls have attacked, they are dead. We are returning to Section 51 now," he did not leave this up for discussion. Beth's apartment was not safe. Trolls would not be fooled by the glamour.

He turned the radio off before Manning could respond. Nuada was getting tired, and he did not need irritation to sap what was left of his energy. He would need all the strength he could muster to take them back to headquarters.

"Gather what you need," he told her. She went to her bedroom and packed while he inspected the trolls. They had no mark of allegiance on their bodies or clothing, no written instructions. Everything came through the largest troll, who always avoided capture. He retrieved his sword and used the troll's own trousers to wipe the heavy blood from the blade.

Beth came out into the living room, dressed in clean, dry clothes and with a bag in her hand. She had not bothered to put her make up back on. She would meet the challenges ahead as her true self, for better or worse. Her white skin and elfin scars stood in stark contrast to her modern dress and apartment. Nuada, for his part, had never seen a more striking human or elf. The scars of elevated rank only furthered his attraction.

"Come," he held out a hand for her. "We must take you somewhere safe, Beth."

"BéChuille," she said. "My real name. BéChuille."

* * *

A/N: I feel the need to apologize. Since returning from Dragon*Con, I've started back at work as a substitute teacher. While not as demanding as being a real teacher, it keeps me away from the computer and distracted enough that I've not been writing as much as I was. Sorry, I'll try to get more written soon.


	18. Chapter 18: Home Again, Home Again

Fallen

Chapter 18: Home Again, Home Again

Beth Hill, BéChuille, took Nuada's outstretched hand. She knew what he intended to do. He would will them to the safety of his magnificent waste management building, to those poorly maintained sections Miss Moore and Mr. Manning had referred to that morning, just twelve hours ago. So little time had passed since they sat together in the conference room, each pretending to be something they were not; as she fought to keep a straight face while the red demon made kissing noises and sarcastic comments. So much had changed. Neither was pretending anymore, but there was still so much left to reveal.

She relaxed her body, emptied her mind and let Nuada control their destination. She had lived long enough to know how dangerous it was to fight the will of another when transporting; she had accidentally caused a young elf to lose a leg once when she suddenly decided she wanted them to appear at a different location than he did. That had been countless years ago, but the memory still kept her from struggling against Nuada's travel plan.

She felt the difference in their location. The air was now warm and dry, unlike in her apartment where the broken window was allowing moist November night air to enter. It was also noisy now. She heard overlapping voices, each sounding more urgent than the last. Loud banging preceded more shouts. This sounded like the early morning deliveries made to the shops outside her apartment, but the sounds echoed and vibrated throughout the room.

BéChuille opened her eyes. They were in a hallway inside the BRPD building. The cacophony of voices came from a garage nearby where the government workers were hurriedly loading the Squeaky Clean-Up garbage trucks. They would be on their way to Beth's apartment in minutes.

"Sir," a suited agent ran up. "How many trolls, sir?"

"Three. Quite large," Nuada replied.

The agent nodded and ran back to the staging area. He promptly ordered the other men to load extra supplies.

Nuada led BéChuille away from the garage and into the quiet hallways of Section 51. It was nearing midnight, and the pair was starting to look noticeably worse for their late-night ordeal. Every bit of the prince was still dripping rainwater, his red sash so wet it was nearly as dark as his black clothes. The saturated cloth was clinging uncomfortably to his skin and weighing him down. Now that he didn't have the thrill of battle or the passion of BéChuille's lips to stir his blood, he was growing more exhausted by the second. BéChuille was worn down from days of running and being constantly on edge, her own strength was waning. Nuada considered transporting them into one of the empty apartments, but he didn't think he could manage. So, despite the risk that he may behead the man from sheer lack of restraint, Nuada went to Manning's office.

The man was pacing, feeling his bald head and muttering to himself. He stopped when Nuada appeared in the doorway. Instinct wanted him to yell and threaten the elf as he did Hellboy, but he thought better of it.

Nuada's haggard appearance did not escape Manning's notice. The prince rarely got what he gave in combat, but it was clear he had taken quite a beating that night. A bruise on his jaw colored his white skin a gold so deep it was closer to coppery brown. Manning saw the hole slashed in his sleeve and the way Nuada held his left arm gingerly as if it were injured. His other arm clung to a woman. She was not so altered that Manning couldn't recognize her as Beth Hill.

"The key code to an apartment," Nuada stated simply.

Manning nodded and scrambled to find a code. His hands shook from nerves as he pulled one of the sealed envelopes from his desk. The room number printed on the outside, and the key code concealed within.

"Thank you, Mr. Manning," Beth smiled and took the envelope he offered. She went with Nuada down the hall. Manning watched, having a difficult time deciding which person was supporting which. It would be a first to see Nuada rely on anyone.

The door was found, the code entered and Nuada saw BéChuille safely inside, kissing her once again. He pressed into her body and mouth. His actions took on more life with each second he touched her. It took him some minutes before he could will himself to step away from her, removing himself from her person and her room. Through their kiss he had pulled from her the strength he needed to make it back to his own quarters, where he dropped, wet clothes, swords, lance and all, onto his bed and slept.

The prince slept through breakfast and his morning training. He slept through the debriefing after the trolls were removed. He slept through lunch and dinner. He slept through the night. He slept.

He woke. It was morning, his internal clock told him as much. He had slept so long that his clothes were now dry. He undressed and examined his wounds. The cut on his arm was already healing. The pouring rain had washed the cut clean of any troll blood that might have transferred from his blade. The bruises were not as bad as they could have been given the size, strength and number of opponents. He stretched, testing his abilities. He winced as he felt the pain of tight muscles throughout his body. An hour's exercise would fix that soon enough. He dressed to train and made his way to the library.

There was a gym that he could use to exercise, but it seemed the humans put more faith in the power of machines and metal weights than in themselves when it came to physical fitness and training; the large gym was filled with these devices, leaving an area far too small to be of use to Nuada for practicing his martial techniques. He had once taken his weapons outside to train, only to be hauled back in at gunpoint as if he had been a common criminal escaping prison. No, for his purposes the library with its large open spaces would suffice. It helped that he had particularly pleasant memories of inflicting considerable bodily harm to Hellboy in that very room. He was not permitted to accost the demon in such a way anymore.

It was six AM, the clocks told him. Everyone was asleep, even Abraham in his tank. Nuada was virtually silent as he practiced his assaults, so, in all the months he had come to the library, Abraham had not been aware of his presence. He dropped his silk shirt on a table and began. His wrist rotated, swinging the abbreviated lance in circles around his forearm. He brought the spinning lance around in front of his body, feeling the twinge in his side as he fought against the bruised and tight muscles. He gritted his teeth and continued, pushing through the pain until he knew only the movements, until his mind was clear of distraction. This was his meditation.

One final summersault through the air, punctuated with a slash of the lance brought him to the end. His mind was at peace, his body no longer ached. It took some effort to breathe, but it always did after training. He picked his shirt up and pulled it on, ignoring the sting of the fabric on his wounded arm. One glance at the tank told him Abe had not woken, and he turned to leave, satisfied in his skills and his stealth.

"Good morning," BéChuille greeted him quietly. She did not wish to wake Abe, either.

"How long have you been there?"

"A few minutes," she said. "I was afraid to say anything. I thought you might strike out at me if I surprised you."

"I would never harm you." Nuada replied, and he meant it.

"I was worried. You slept all day yesterday."

"I was tired."

"I can imagine," she smiled, coming down the steps and closer to him. "That troll was enormous."

She was leaning toward him. Her hand was at her neck, fidgeting fingers toying with the neckline of her shirt. Nuada wondered about her sudden anxiety to be near him.

"He has escaped me three times. My weapons have little effect on him," Nuada stitched his hairless brows together. "It is practically invulnerable."

"Invulnerable?"

"That might indicate that the troll is being protected by enchantments of some kind," Abe said helpfully from his tank. His sudden addition to their conversation made BéChuille, already nervous to be in Nuada's presence, jump.

"It might also have the final piece of the Staff on its body," Nuada said sharply, irritated that his first private moment with her was being interrupted. He had not intended to turn the conversation to the golden cylinders, but they were there now. It would not do to ignore the potential war in favor of personal desires.

"If it has been hired to retrieve the pieces, why would it not give its master the one piece it has in its possession?" Abe wondered, seemingly oblivious to the angry look Nuada was directing his way.

"It probably won't get paid until all the pieces of the Staff are recovered," BéChuille said. She was speaking with the knowledge of a business woman, but a smile pulled at her lips as she added, "And having met you once, it knows it needs the strength it gets from the cylinder to fight you and retrieve the other pieces."

Nuada felt warmth spread through him as she spoke such compliments about him. True, she had stood in admiration of his techniques minutes before, but she had not said as much. The turn in conversation seemed fine to him now that she was speaking of his battle prowess.

"Do you think there's a chance of recovering the piece from the troll?" Abe asked. He could not imagine it willingly relinquishing hold of the cylinder, which only meant that they would face the beast again. He knew the toll it had taken on Nuada to fight the beast, he had seen the mirrored wounds appear on his beloved.

"We have to try," BéChuille insisted. "It can't be allowed to keep any part of the Staff of Brigid. The power of even one piece is too much."

"I will retrieve it." Nuada said and moved to leave.

"You don't need to go right now." She put her hands on his chest to stop him. For a moment bold Beth Hill replaced the reserved BéChuille. She pressed her hands into the silk, feeling the pectoral muscles beneath. Finally realizing he was interrupting, Abe swam away from the windows of his tank into the murky lower depths.


	19. Chapter 19: Feeling the Hunger

Fallen

Chapter 19: Feeling the Hunger

Nuada was hungry. True, he had not eaten in forty-eight hours, but that was not the hunger that he felt. There was a deeper hunger that was gnawing at his gut as he felt BéChuille's hands pressed into this chest. This particular hunger had not been satiated for millennia. Humans would have blanched at the idea that a man could ignore such a base need, but Nuada was dedicated. He could focus his mind, train his body to exhaustion, and he had. It was easy when there was no one there for him for want. But now the object of that desire was before him, touching him, and he could not center his mind away from her. Every nerve ending in his body pointed to his chest, to where her warm white hands pushed into the silk of his shirt.

Seeing the affect she had on him, BéChuille pulled back.

The prince closed his eyes and took in a shaking breath. He hoped to calm himself, to redirect his mind.

"I think," Nuada said with some effort, his eyes still closed. "I will go clean myself up."

"You must be hungry. Would you like me to bring you something to eat?" she asked.

Her suggestion was an innocent one, for she could not know how truly hungry he was.

He didn't trust himself to be around her. When he thought she was human, he stood half a chance. He could repel himself from her by connecting her to the rest of the human race, which he still detested. But now she was not a member of the race he abhorred, she was elf as he was and there was nothing holding him back but the sheer force of his will.

And that was decaying rapidly. With his eyes closed, he could smell her natural perfume, earthy and fragrant like the forest. He remembered the softness of her hair, her lips, the skin of her hand.

Weakness took over and Nuada nodded his approval.

She would come and his hunger would be sated.

* * *

BéChuille did not have to knock when she came to Nuada's door. It was ajar, open wide enough for her to slide through. She noticed there were more locks on his door than on hers. Knowing the natural abilities of an elf, she found this precaution against the prince's escape to be utterly ridiculous. If he chose to leave, he would not even have to open the door never mind bother unlocking it.

She placed the tray of food on the bed. Free of the awkward weight of the tray, she could look at the room. It appeared most of the rooms were identical in design, utilitarian features such as the metal shelves and dressers were built into the solid cement walls. She saw the same features here that were in her own room and in Nuala's. It was how the occupants chose to personalize their space that made all the difference. Nuada had brought much from his old home to his new prison. Ancient leather-bound books filled the shelves. Tools and weapons covered the desk. Delicately carved statues and intricate mechanical boxes sat atop the dressers.

His closet was open. One of the first items she saw was armor, layers of thick fabric sewn together with hard shells stitched onto it for ornament and for further protection. She felt the clean cut through one of the arm guards.

"Courtesy of the demon," Nuada said. He was directly behind her, though she hadn't heard him approach.

"You fight him often?" she asked, trying to keep calm.

"Not as often as I would like."

BéChuille grinned at the admission. She stepped farther into his closet. Armor and silk, the protective and the seductive, radically different materials, but each seemed to fit him so well. She turned to comment on it, and flushed at the sight of him. He was all but naked, wearing only a towel. His hair was dripping a tiny river that her eyes could not help but follow down his body. She traced its path from his shoulder, down his chest, over the hills and valleys of his stomach, to an abrupt end at the terrycloth that was wrapped low around his waist.

"I came too soon," she tore her eyes away and stared at the ceiling. "I'll come back later."

"No." Nuada insisted. "You may stay." He smiled at her bashful refusal to look at him. Beth Hill would not have averted her gaze; she would have admired him naked in his bedroom as she did fully-clothed in her office.

"If you say so."

They both stood there, waiting.

"You will need to move if you wish for me to dress."

There was a pause during which BéChuille did not move. The prince watched the play of thought and emotion across her face as she debated whether she truly wanted him to bother putting clothes on. He could see her struggling with the two options placed before her, and wondered why she looked so pained. After much inner dialogue with herself, the woman forced herself from the closet. She glanced back at him when he stepped out of sight into the closet. BéChuille, in all her long years, had wished to become many things – doctor, banker, painter and poet – but never a towel, yet she felt the sudden desire to be soft, plush and absorbent and wrapped around that man's waist. Sadly, that was one skill that was beyond even her elf powers.

Nuada emerged from his closet fully clothed in seductive silk. He found BéChuille staring past him, a distant and sad look on her face. He cocked his head to the side and approached silently. She did not respond to him, not even when he stood directly in front of her. He brushed the hair from her eyes. The warm touch of his fingers on her skin broke her concentration. The woman blushed to find him so close.

"You brought food?" Nuada asked.

She nodded.

"Thank you."

She blushed.

Nuada found her suddenly timid behavior both amusing and slightly worrying. He was not so far removed from society to know what she was thinking when she saw him undressed. But her reaction was so different from her earlier advances. Surely now that neither of them was pretending, she would be more inclined to pursue him. However, the reverse seemed to be true.

She still desired him, he could tell that much, but she was reluctant to show it now. He remembered that she had been in Section 51 a full day before he woke. He wondered if something had happened during that time that affected her wanting him. Manning would not have denied her any access, wanting her to feel safe and welcome and trusting of them so that she would reveal the location of the seven golden cylinders. She could have talked to any of the agents, human or unique, about him. Only Nuala knew that he had murdered their father, and he knew she had not told BéChuille. But he had killed at least four score humans in his war, any of the agents knew that, and if she asked they would have told her as much about him. Perhaps she had learned information that changed her mind about pursuing him.

The hunger was still inside him, tearing at his resolve. He had promised not to hurt her, but he questioned whether he could keep that promise if she would not willingly come into his bed.


	20. Chapter 20: Cornucopia

Fallen

Chapter 20: Cornucopia

Nuada was quite sure BéChuille would have stood staring at him for the rest of her long life. He could use his abilities to know precisely what she was thinking, but he chose discretion. If she wished to have a private debate with herself, Nuada would not interfere. He was having his own conflict, after all. He would not wish her to know that he was struggling to keep himself from throwing her to the floor and ravishing her. Although knowing as much might put a decisive end to her debate.

While they each fought privately with themselves, Nuada thought it best to feed his body in the way BéChuille thought was necessary. He hoped his self-control would improve when he was fully nourished, but he did not expect much.

He stepped around her and went to his bed. He took a bowl of fruit from the tray she had placed there and sat back on his pillow, watching the golden blush touch the woman's face. Her brain was completely filled with images of him naked and lying on that very bed. She kicked herself mentally for having put the food in a place that allowed him to look so alluring.

Nuada, for all the effect he was having, was not doing anything but eating. He didn't have to. He was a passionate man; so much so that he had convinced his father to have The Golden Army built, killed the wise old king and declared war on humanity. His passion was always just below the surface, barely restrained. She could feel it, like an electric current had been let loose in the room, it made her skin vibrate and the hair rise on her arms. If she let it, it could command her and control her as effectively as his voice.

"Will you not join me?" He asked.

She blushed again and sent a shocked look at him. But he was gesturing to the tray of food. He was offering her something to eat, not to take her into his bed. _Onto_ his bed, yes, but for a picnic. She felt like such a juvenile. She was thousands of years old, a respected member of the human community, and had numerous human lovers under her belt, yet she was letting this elven man – a beautiful, powerful elven man, she reminded herself – bring blushes to her cheeks. So what if even now he was naked in her mind, she had seen nude men before.

She smiled and sat opposite him, the tray purposefully between them. She felt the solid floor beneath her bare feet, and held onto that solidity to keep her mind focused as she looked at him.

Nuada was still doing nothing to encourage her erotic notions. He was enjoying his meal, realizing he was far hungrier for food than he had realized. He was also hungry for information. He wanted to know about this woman and why she had chosen to hide among the humans. She was elfish elite. She had no purpose being in the human world.

"Why were you pretending to be a human?" he asked as he spread cheese onto his bread.

"We didn't have much say in the matter," she said, looking away from him.

"'We'?"

"My father and I."

"Adam March."

"Yes. I don't remember much. All I know is what father has told me," she said into her bowl of fruit. "Father says he disagreed with the King's choice and told him as much. The king had us banished."

Nuada stared at her. His father had been the only king capable of punishing one of his own kind so severely. Before that, the weaker kings had reigned in smaller kingdoms across the entire Earth; a banished elf could easily make a home in another king's land. It was only when Balor became the one all-powerful King of Elf Land that an elf could be forced into absolute exile. If BéChuille had to live among humans, then she and her father had been banished by Nuada's own father.

"King Balor banished you?"

"Yes," she said. "Your father."

Nuada did not shrink from her gaze when she looked up. He was his father's son and was proud to be of his blood. If his father had decided that Adam and his daughter deserved banishment, he would not argue it. Although he wondered if he had been in the throne room when his father had ruled against them. Had he had looked down from the dais at Adam and his daughter? So much time had passed, he didn't remember it even if he had been there.

"My father disapproved of the war with the humans. Your father said it was treason and had us removed from our lands to die with the humans my father loved more than his own people." The trace of bitterness in her voice was not her own but an echo of her father's.

"You knew this about my family and still chose to come with me?"

"I didn't know you were Balor's son," she shook her head. "I didn't even know your name."

"Then when…"

"Yesterday. I talked to Nuala and the others. They said your name and I remembered it; my father used to curse it as often as he curses Balor's."

"You hate me now, as he does." Nuada understood her struggle. Her desire was being tempered by their families' unpleasant history. She would have given herself to him the moment she saw him fresh from the shower if she hadn't known his name. He should not have slept through the previous day. She would not have learned his name until after they were bound together, then it would not have mattered.

"No. I can't hate you. You saved my life," she smiled. "Twice."

Nuada couldn't say anything. It wasn't proper for an elf to boast of his own skills and accomplishments, though by his count he had saved her four times.

"Besides, all I've ever known is the human world," she was growing more comfortable now. She had been so concerned that he would reject her as an outcast, but he had not moved or looked away in revulsion. She was still just BéChuille.

"My father talks of what it was like, especially now that he cannot leave the forest." She noted Nuada's confused look and explained, "The quick has grown too long in his antlers; he can't cut them to a length that can be disguised."

"He lives beyond the blue door?"

She nodded.

"You must have suffered greatly living among the humans," Nuada ventured.

Her face darkened with memories relived, "Not always. There are some events that I would not wish to live through a second time. But the last couple centuries have been quite nice, the last few decades especially. I'm quite the business woman, you know." She beamed brightly again. "I'm quite proud of my latest venture."

"I cannot imagine living among them. The greedy, hollow things."

"Not all humans are bad," she chided him. "I've known many with kind, full hearts. They are not the rule, but they do exist."

Nuada shook his head stubbornly.

"Do you know how many hectares of wilderness humans have helped save?" She demanded. "Millions. I have met with concerned humans across the world and helped them create preserves and parks. The humans care."

"If it were not for humans the wilderness would not need preserving," Nuada spoke through gritted teeth.

"And what have you done to stop them?" She challenged.

"I declared war!" He was standing now, angry that she would dare to contest his dedication.

"Last year!" She, too, rose to her feet. "And before that? For all those long years of exile? What did you do to help keep humans at bay?"

"There was nothing I could do."

"Wrong!" She poked a finger at his chest. "You could have stopped them."

"How?" He sneered his disapproval. "With parks?"

"By remaining visible, living among them, reasoning with them. Humans are easily persuaded." She poked again. "My father was counsel to presidents, emperors and kings; he kept them from hunting animals to extinction while you were hiding. He bought entire forests and kept them safe from development and farming while you were hiding. I kept humans from leveling acres for shopping malls and parking lots. I saved the habitats of endangered plants and animals while you were hiding."

Nuada Silverlance would not be challenged without reprisal.

He had not been _hiding_. He had been biding his time until his people needed him. He had been waiting and training, not hiding. He had risen to the challenges of the King of Elf Land and Anung un Rama, Son of the Fallen One. He would not be berated by a woman. He suppressed an animalistic growl that threatened to crawl up from his chest, but he was on her in an instant, his hands at her throat. His anger was radiating from his skin, so hot that BéChuille was sure it would burn her. She saw the intensity of the rage in his gold eyes, but she did not look away. She would not retreat. She was right. He was wrong. She had done more good in playing human than he had in hiding. She could die content in that knowledge.

Nuada felt the muscles tighten under her soft skin. Felt the warmth of her. He could even feel her pulse, so fast now that her life was in danger. He had promised never to hurt her, but she had struck him in his only vulnerable spot, his pride.

Looking into her determined gaze, he saw the fierce creature she was. She would fight him for eternity before giving in, much as he would do the same. The smirk that pulled at the corner of her pale lips stirred the hunger inside him again. The beast he had been fighting to keep at rest since first meeting Beth Hill finally awoke. It uncurled low in his gut, stretched out and reached into every part of him like some long-forgotten elemental. It filled him with a new heat as one passion replaced another.

His strong hands twisted at her throat, yanking her forward. His mouth was on hers before she could catch her breath. She gasped into his mouth, involuntarily parting her lips and giving him full access to her mouth. The kiss was painful. It was bruisingly intense and fevered.

Somewhere in the back of his mind Nuada remembered Mark the Undeserving and wondered how many like him had ever kissed BéChuille this way. How many had touched her as he was doing now, as he was about to. He challenged himself to wipe the memory of Mark and his undeserving ilk from her mind.

Nuada Silverlance always rose to the challenge.

* * *

A/N: My apologies for the unbelievably long delay. I hadn't intended to take so long to get back to this story. Thank you to those who have reviewed it or added it to your alerts or favorites. Every time I got an email letting me know you were reading and liking it, I felt the tug of guilt to get back to work on it. Thank you!


	21. Chapter 21: Old Wounds

Fallen

Chapter 21: Old Wounds

Nuada stood high on the raised platform, several steps above the floor below. His father sat on the thrown, head heavy on his silver hand; Balor Silverhand was his name. He had lost that hand in battle. His father was a great warrior and had aged into a just king. He had won the crown through battle of arms and wits with the small kings and princes, and now ruled justly over the entire range of the elf lands across the whole of the Earth. He was fair to all his subjects. He could be harsh, but only when required. In this case it was required.

The elf stood before his king arguing his case. He was a respected man of a high ranking family, the scar of royalty cut across his face and the antlers growing through his white hair. The humans would have equated him to a duke in their aristocracy, but that held no sway with King Balor in matters of war.

War was eminent. The humans were increasing in numbers and greed; they were encroaching on the elf lands, leveling forests for their farms and ever-growing cities. Small skirmishes had been breaking out for the past seven seasons. Battle plans were already being made, swords forged, bows strung, armies gathered and truces with the lower fae races drawn.

And here was Adammair, telling the king he was mistaken. That war would solve nothing.

His daughter was beside him, small and beautiful as all elf children were. She, he said, could divine the future. She saw the war to come and that it would end in nothing but pain, no beneficial truce would come of it. The elves would not win without sacrificing their noble hearts.

Balor asked the child what she foresaw for her father and his family.

She did not speak, just shook her head. She was not refusing to answer; the small shake of her head was her reply. They would not win their case.

Balor accepted her vision. Adammair and his daughter were sent away. He let the man keep his daughter. Perhaps her divine sight might keep the man alive long enough to see how wrong he had been about the war.

From atop the dais, Nuada watched them as they were pulled from the king's throne room. The daughter looked back at him, her eyes locked on his. He was shocked that she would dare to look him in the eye. Her pale, beautiful face held a deep sadness that was nothing to do with losing her home. She knew what was to come, and she was sad for him.

His hand went to his heart. It brushed the ridges of his breastplate, but they felt too soft. His chest was not rising in time with his breathing. He blinked slowly. When he opened his eyes again the throne room was gone, in its place was his dark human-made room. He looked at his chest to see why his breastplate had been so soft, and saw his hand not on his chest but on BéChuille's back. She was lying on top of him, still asleep. His fingers traced the ridges he had dreamed were reinforcing his armor. He shifted slowly, letting her fall lightly back onto the bed, and rolled onto his side to examine the scars.

The raised tissue ran the width of her entire back from shoulder blades down to the sensuous curve of her lower back in long straight lines that often overlapped. He knew what had made these scars – a whip.

He remembered his dream, the sad little girl he had let walk off into the wilderness. She had been right in her vision. She and her father had been unjustly banished. And Nuada saw and felt the result of that punishment across her back. She had lived among the barbarians and suffered for it, yet she loved humanity still. While he, who avoided humans as a disease, hated them.

She smiled at his touch.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"I'm not, that was wonderful."

"No. I'm sorry for this." His fingers traced the scars.

"You didn't hold the whip," she said. Her voice was harsh. It annoyed her when lovers brought up her scars when she was in the afterglow. It brought reality and old memories down on her and completely ruined the amorous mood.

"I could have stopped my father sending you away. I am as much to blame."

"Look," she sighed, "I don't remember, but I'm quite sure that there was no talking your father out of it. He was getting the entire fae world ready for an epic battle and along comes one man and his daughter saying 'no.' He was not going to let us go home and sit out the war."

"I didn't say anything to stop it. I didn't say anything at all," Nuada looked away from her. "I looked down on you. I thought you deserved it."

She was sitting now, hugging him and brushing her hands against his scars.

"But you looked at me," he muttered. "You looked at me as if you knew everything that would happen from that day forward. The Golden Army, my exile, my failed attempt at war, all of it. Did you see this?" He gestured to them in his bed.

She let her smile answer.

"I am as much to blame for these as if I had held the whip myself."

"The humans have a saying you probably never heard before. 'Kiss it and make it better.' I have a lot of scars, and if it makes you feel better you are welcome to kiss each one of them until you feel better."

And he did. He kissed each narrow whip wound inflicted on her back by the Roman soldier in 23 CE Gaul. He kissed the jagged mark of a pocket knife left by a mugger in San Francisco 30 years ago. He kissed the abbreviated lines that marked her left ankle from a bear trap in the Rocky Mountains in 1893. He kissed the long scar along her inner thigh where an eager crusader had split her skirt some six hundred years earlier. He kissed them each repeatedly until he had heard all there was to hear about each one.

Strangely, it did make him feel better.

Then she turned on him and heard his stories, kissed his scars and some other things as well, which made him feel better still.


	22. Chapter 22: New Wounds

Fallen

Chapter 22: New Wounds

The food ran out.

The tray was finally empty on the floor and, try as they might, sex could not keep Nuada and BéChuille nourished. Their current attempt to do so was being interrupted by the growling of a royal stomach. Nuada groaned and hung his head, embarrassed that he wasn't able to control his body more thoroughly. He prided himself on his self-control, his initial and fully welcomed carnal assault on BéChuille notwithstanding.

"Maybe we should go get something to eat," she sighed. "See if there's been a development in the case."

"They would have called."

"Still. Food." She shimmied out from under him, which did nothing to encourage him to leave the bed. She stubbornly grabbed hold of his arm and pulled him from under the covers.

His muscles felt weak, he could barely stand. It had been at least a day since he had trained in the library, but that should not have affected him so severely. He slumped back down on the bed, unable to make himself remain on his feet.

BéChuille giggled at him and pulled him back up.

"You'll get better at all this, I promise."

"Had much experience in this, have you?" He wasn't accusing or berating her.

"I've had my fair share, thank you. I didn't hear you complaining about that fact."

He made no reply.

She pulled him into the bathroom and turned the shower on above them. The slight chill in the water helped clear his head and bring the blood back into his extremities. He let BéChuille wash him, but was still far too exhausted to return the favor. She dried him and pushed him into his closet before she picked her rumpled clothes from the floor. Her final chiding remark about his being old enough to dress himself was sufficient to give Nuada the spiteful energy to clothe his body and drag himself out from his room.

Once out in the hallway, his pride forced him to walk with more dignity than he did when alone with her. Out here he had a reputation, and he would maintain it. He gritted his teeth, glared his irritation at the effort it was taking to remain upright. If there had been anyone awake and in the halls at that hour, they would have run away from him screaming like a frightened girl. BéChuille was waiting for him at a table in the cafeteria, a tray before her with enough food for the pair of them. He calmly approached and sat slowly opposite her.

"Amazing what you can do when you put your mind to it," she smirked at him, knowing the monumental effort it must have taken him to look so collected.

He narrowed his eyes at her, but said nothing.

They ate in silence, enjoying the taste of the sweet fruits, tangy yogurt and hearty bread after so long without food. Enjoying, too, the stolen glances across the table and the warmth of their legs pressed together beneath the table.

"I think we should slow down today. You need a rest," BéChuille smiled.

"I should train." Nuada agreed outwardly, though he bridled under the implication that he was somehow inferior.

"Good plan," she grinned wolfishly. "I'll watch."

"If you wish."

Nuada left her to dispose of their meal. He returned, with less effort, to his room to ready himself for the physical exertion of his exercises. He changed and brought his weapons to the library. As was usually the case, the magnificent room was empty. The towering shelves of books looked as if they hadn't been touched since the day he arrived in Section 51. Only Abe's books were changed. He had advanced several pages in the four thick manuscripts he was currently reading. Abe was asleep in his tank at this hour of the morning, and none of the other agents would be coming to this section for at least two more hours. He was free to train.

He took out his namesake, the silver lance. He twisted it in his hands, felt the weight of it. He threw it high in the air and leapt to catch it, landing on his feet only long enough to launch into a flip and land silently several feet away. He twisted and lashed out with the shortened lance. Despite his earlier fatigue, he felt more invigorated now; more confident in his movements, if that was at all possible. The room disappeared. He knew only his movements and his weapons.

He twisted the spear around and stopped abruptly with the tip a hair's breadth from Liz's throat.

"What the hell?" She shrieked, the flames of fear and annoyance growing like a demonic halo around her head.

"You should not approach when I'm training."

"I called you twice, and I figured the flashing red light would have caught your attention." She gestured with flaming hands at the air. The red lights were flashing throughout the room, calling the team to duty.

"Get cleaned up, we have a troll attack," she glared at him and left the room, grumbling and still afire.

BéChuille was not in the library. She had not come to watch him train. If she had, she would have stopped the foolish woman from approaching him while he held a lance. He went to her room, but she was not there. Nor was she in his room. He changed for battle concerned that the woman he now thought of as his was gone.

The trucks were loaded and waiting for Nuada. He was waiting for BéChuille or his sister to see him off. His sister often stood in the doorway to wave Abraham and her brother goodbye, but even she was glaringly absent. An omen by omission; he did not like what this could mean. Red grabbed the back of Nuada's bulletproof vest and hauled him up into the truck, slapped the giant button to close the door and signaled to the driver that it was safe to leave.

As the trucks approached their destination, Princess Nuala was similarly hauled into the presence of Dr. Brass, who had been enjoying the prospect of a quiet donut and coffee for a change. He shoved the last of the confection into his mouth while Nuala was pushed onto the sterile surgical steel bed.

"What's the problem?" he asked.

"There is nothing wrong. I am fine," Nuala assured him and BéChuille gently as she stood back up.

"You won't be soon," BéChuille assured her.

She pushed the princess unceremoniously back onto the examining table. The taller elf woman glared and pointed at her to stay put if she knew what was good for her. Nuala thought perhaps BéChuille had learned too much from her brother in their short time together. She stayed obediently on the table, sure that the misunderstanding would be resolved shortly. BéChuille, ignoring the calm smile on the woman's face, put a small brown case on the counter. Brass questioned how hygienic the case was; it looked as if it had been dragged along behind a car for several thousand miles. In actuality, it had been carried around the globe for a couple hundred years. The leather was scarred and beat up, the protective metal corners dented and tarnished; one handle looked ready to fall off at the slightest tug.

BéChuille tugged, but the handle did not fall off. She opened the case and began pulling out satchels, envelopes and small bottles. The elf closed her eyes and muttered to herself, then rearranged the contents of her bag, laying them on the counter in a specific order. She dug into the doctor's supplies, taking sterile needles, suture thread and gauze from his stores and adding them into her neat arrangement of medicines, again in very particular locations. She pulled a small pot and earthenware cup from the case and placed them at the end of the line of medicines. The liquid she poured looked like tea. She slapped the doctor's hand as he lifted the cup to sniff its malodorous contents.

"What is all this?" Brass asked, a little put out.

"Medicines."

"Miss," he smiled mockingly. "We have plenty of medicine here in the infirmary."

"Not like these, you don't."

He opened his mouth to say something disparaging about holistic medicines and the dangers they posed, but Nuala cried out and her hand flew to her shoulder. They saw the golden blood pouring from her wound and soaking through her sleeve all the way down to her elbow. The doctor cut open Nuala's dress in time to see another wound appear on her side. He moved to apply gauze, but BéChuille pushed him aside.

"Pay attention, doctor, you will need to learn this," she told him firmly.

She used her medicines and his thread to treat each wound. She pulled the torn skin together with fine stitches and applied salves and leaves depending on the severity of the wound. Unlike when he treated Nuala or her brother, the wounds began to heal with unnatural rapidity under BéChuille's care. A small cut was treated with a thick paste that smelled of chamomile and honey, and he could see the wound vanish within minutes. BéChuille named each salve, leaf and paste as she applied it to the wounds, making him repeat its name and uses back to her. He felt like he was back on his trauma internship, but if he could duplicate these results on his patients it was worth her patronizing.

New wounds of increasing seriousness were erupting on Nuala's body. Wherever her brother was, whatever or however many he was fighting, he was not doing well. BéChuille continued to treat his sister, knowing that the care Nuala received would apply to him. She hoped that Nuala's attentions would be enough to help him win his fight, or keep alive long enough to escape.

The last wound appeared on Nuala's back, a slash so deep it exposed the bone of her shoulder blade. Ignoring the pain it might bring to the princess and her brother, BéChuille covered her fingers with salve and pushed them into the wound, coating the damaged flesh and stopping the bleeding. She sutured the wound and applied more medicines. She had the doctor cover it with gauze and he was amazed that no blood came through the sterile cotton given the severity of the wound.

"The tea, doctor," she pointed to the cup he had smelled minutes earlier. "It will help her recover from the blood loss."

He nodded eagerly and helped the princess to drink the tea down while BéChuille washed her hands free of medicine and royal blood.

Orderlies were called in to lift Nuala to a clean gurney. Dr. Brass attached monitors to keep an eye on the princess, wheeled her to a quiet room and let the poor woman sleep. He went back to BéChuille in the trauma room and set about picking her brain for everything she could tell him about the medicines. She was more than happy to provide the information. She had seen the future. She knew Dr. Brass would one day very soon use this knowledge to save lives, and with them the world.

* * *

A/N: Watching the film, I was fascinated with the physical connection between the twins and what it might mean in a battle situation. If one was cut, the other bled, so that must mean that if one was stitched up, the other would be, too. I love that idea. Talk about having an advantage in a fight!


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